By Words the Mind is Winged
by 9mouse9
Summary: "Cassie had always been great with words. With all the reading she'd done, it might even have been a bit strange if she wasn't. So why, then, was it that whenever she happened to be around Mush, she couldn't seem to form them?" In which a girlsie named Cassandra realizes that happy endings might just exist after all.
1. In Which We Meet our Heroes

**A/N: I don't own anything in this story but Cassie Anderson and her relatives. Also, I'd like to give a shoutout to the ****lovely**** Percie Jean, who has helped inspire me to write this story! This first chapter is dedicated to you :)**

**Word Count: 1856**

Chapter One: In Which We Meet Our Protagonists in a Movie-Style Flashback

_Manhattan, 1894_

Books were so much easier to handle than reality, which was one of the many reasons ten-year-old Cassandra loved them.

She'd started at a relatively young age, and now read all the time, mostly Shakespeare. A recent obsession of hers was Romeo and Juliet. Sure, it ended in tragedy, but then, so many things in real life did - she'd learned that much firsthand. In any case, it was a beautiful story, and she read it now on the long train to Manhattan, New York.

She was riding with Mrs. Johnson from the market, who had been a close friend of her mother's. When she and some others learned of her mother's death, they'd all rallied to help Cassie find another relative to live with. The whole thing was very sweet of course, but Cassie had never actually _met _this Aunt Quinn of hers, and she sort of feared what she would be like.

Her life, up until this point, had for the most part been one of routine, and she wasn't so sure she was ready to change just yet.

As she began to turn the page, she realized that she hadn't really paid much attention to anything on that page, lost in her thoughts.

"Mrs. Johnson?" she asked, looking up.

"Oh, Cassandra, I've told you that you can call me Mildred."

"Mrs. Mildred?"

Mrs. Johnson smiled warmly. "Yes, dear?"

"Do you think my aunt will be nice?"

"Oh yes, I'm sure she will be. Your mother spoke of her quite often, and fondly, too. I expect she'll be very kind, especially with the…situation."

Cassie considered this for a moment, then looked back down at her book. "Mrs. Mildred?"

"Yes?"

"When I'm gone, can you please return my book to the library?"

"Of course, dear." Mrs. Johnson's eyes seemed to shine with sympathy. "Which reminds me…my husband and I got you something. Like a going-away present." She reached into her bag and pulled out a thick, rectangular object wrapped in newspapers.

"What is it?"

"Why don't you open it up and see?"

Cassie took the gift and started to tear off the paper. It was a book. "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare," she read aloud.

"Your mom always said you were a fan."

"I am." She grinned. "Thank you." Gingerly, she opened the book. The first story was All's Well That Ends Well.

"Oh, don't mention it." Mrs. Johnson waved a dismissive hand.

Cassie smiled and resumed her reading.

When they arrived at her Aunt Quinn's home, it took a whole four minutes for her to come to the door.

_She must be really old, _Cassie thought at first, _or deaf._ It turned out she was deliberately ignoring them. After the second minute had passed and Mrs. Johnson had knocked _again_, a shout echoed from inside the house.

"Would whoever it is please leave? I am not coming to the door!"

The third minute went by, and by the fourth, when they were still there knocking, Quinn stomped to the door and opened it, wearing her night clothes and a filmy white robe. She couldn't have been much older than twenty-two. Her eyes were ablaze with what looked like anger.

"Ms. Anderson?"

"What do you want?" Her words were clipped, like someone who was trying desperately not to yell.

"This is Cassandra, your niece."

Quinn's eyes softened immediately as she gazed down at Cassie. "Of course. And I'm sure you are grieving just as I?"

Cassie nodded.

"Well, I apologize for my display. It was a horrible thing to hear of her passing. I can't imagine your heartbreak."

"Yes, well, I should be getting back. Good luck, Cassandra. I hope to see you again soon." Mrs. Johnson ruffled Cassie's curls and left for the train station.

"Come in," Quinn said. Cassie did so. No sooner than she had stepped inside however, did Quinn whip around to face her, the anger having returned to her eyes. She was horribly intimidating. "Listen. I don't really want you here, but as long as you do what I say and leave me alone, we should be fine."

Cassie furrowed her brows and clutched her new book to her chest. "But out there you said-"

"I happen to be a fantastic actress. Now, you can sleep in my younger step-brother's old room. I don't have any clothes for you, so you'll just have to wear his."

"Okay, but - "

"Go outside and do something. I'm meeting someone today." And with that, Cassie was pushed back out the door.

She was in too great a state of shock to even begin to comprehend what had just happened. Her grieving aunt had kicked her out of the house for no reason-that was, assuming her Quinn even _was _grieving and not lying about that like everything else. _Then again_, Cassie considered, _grief makes people do crazy things. _She stood up and paced down the sidewalk. After a short back-and-forth with herself about whether Quinn was guilty or not, Cassie elected to forgive her. After all, the opposite of love, she figured, was apathy,and it seemed as if Quinn cared to _some _degree, right?

As Cassie further contemplated this, she continued walking down the sidewalk until she bumped into someone. Stumbling backwards a few steps, she looked up to see a boy with curly brown hair and blue eyes. He looked older than her. "Hiya," he said cheerily, "I'm Nick."

Cassie smiled awkwardly in response. "Uh, I'm Cassie. Sorry for bumping into you…"

"That's alright." Nick grinned. "I like meetin' people." He paused. "You new here? I ain't never seen ya before, and I seen all the kids in 'Hattan."

"All of them?" Cassie asked skeptically.

"Probably. Course, I ain't counted, but…_at least_ most of' em."

"I doubt you've met most of the kids in Manhattan." Cassie said in a rather matter-of-fact way. "I've never even been here before and I know that it's impossible."

Nick raised an eyebrow, a small smile still on his face. "Really? I think anything's possible." He paused again and looked Cassie up and down. "How old are you?"

"Ten."

"Yeah? Well, I'se twelve, so I think I know a little bit more about the impossible than you do."

"Like what?"

"Like that it _ain't _impossible to know most of the kids in Manhattan." Nick smirked.

"And…what else?" Cassie asked, trying not to let her voice betray interest. Of course, she hardly believed that this boy knew anything about the impossible, but if he did, well…it might be worth knowing.

"Oh, so _now_ ya believe me?"

"No," Cassie said quickly. She'd never been a particularly good liar and hoped he couldn't tell.

Nick looked around. "You got anywhere to be, Cassie?"

She shook her head no, thinking of how rude Quinn had been to her.

Nick extended his hand and smiled. "Then come with me."

* * *

Cassie and Nick became fast friends over the months, and though her suspicions were confirmed (Nick didn't know much about the impossible after all), he made good company seeing as she didn't really have anyone else.

She'd gone to school back in Albany, but since she had moved to Manhattan, she'd been putting her studies off.

Before her untimely death, Cassie's mother had always made her go to school. Education, to her, was one of the most important things in life, no matter how you got it. Cassie of course, kept up with her reading. Shakespeare was all she had now, but she wasn't complaining. In fact, she always had her book on her, even when she was with Nick (though that was in part because she didn't completely trust Quinn).

She and Nick now lay on the grass under the stars and staring up. She had her book on her chest.

"You really like readin', huh? You've had that book on you every time I've seen ya." Nick commented , looking at her.

"By words the mind is winged," she shrugged.

"What, was that the first Shakespeare you ever read or somethin'?"

Cassie laughed. "Nope it's a quote by another dead playwright - Aristophanes."

"Ari-who?"

"Aristophanes. Basically it's just a fancier version of the saying, 'knowledge is power.'"

"Oh."

They sat in silence for a bit, staring at the stars again.

"Nick?"

"Hm?"

"Are you sure you wanna become a newsie? I mean, you could come live with me or something, and get food and stuff there."

"Aw." He ruffled her curly hair. "Ya know I'd love that, but you also know your aunt don't want me there. And I'd feel intrusive."

"But you wouldn't be!"

"Yeah, but I'd _feel _that way, and that's the important thing, ain't it?"

Cassie sighed. "I guess. Will you at least come to visit me?"

"Course! Ya don't even have to ask."

Cassie smiled, but she still felt sad. Her expression must have displayed this, because Nick grinned at her and said, "Hey, wanna point out all the constellations and make me feel stupid 'cause I can't see 'em?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

The next day, Nick visited Cassie reading in the front yard. "Cassie!"

"Nick!" She looked up and noticed two figures standing with him. "Who are these?"

"Oh, this is Romeo," Nick said, gesturing to a boy that looked about her age on the left, "and Racetrack." He gestured to the boy on the right, who had an unlit cigar between his lips.

"Enchanté, mademoiselle," Romeo said, grinning cheekily and kissing her right hand.

Nick rolled his eyes, but Cassie smirked. She found it endearing. "Parlez-vous Français?"

"Just the romantic sounding things," He admitted.

"So your name is Romeo? Like from the Shakespeare play?"

"That's me. I guess you can see where I got the nickname from."

She nodded. She wanted to ask what his real name was then, but felt it wasn't her place. "And so your name is Racetrack?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out." He smiled and extended his hand. "Mostly, though, they call me Race."

Cassie shook it. "And I suppose that's a nickname too?"

"Technically, yeah."

"Do _all _the newsies have nicknames?"

"Pretty much."

"What's yours, Nick?"

"I don't really have one yet. They said they have to figure out my _personality _first."

He exaggerated his accent on the word personality, so that it sounded like "poysonality." Cassie giggled. "Alright then."

"And while we've got your attention, Miss," Romeo asked, pulling out a newspaper from his bag, "would ya be interested in buying a paper?"

She smirked. "Indeed, I would, good sir," she said, and handed him a dime. She could see his face light up, which made her smile.

"Alright, well, we oughta be goin'," Nick began. "Papers to sell, ya know? But I'll see ya soon, Cassie."

"Bye, Nick! Race, Romeo!"

They all gave their own goodbyes and ambled into the distance, leaving Cassie back to her book and her thoughts, wondering if she could ever become a newsie one day.

"Cassandra!" Quinn's sharp, shrill voice jolted her out of her thoughts. "Come inside and clean the kitchen!"

"But I just - "

"_Now_!"

Cassie sighed and headed back into the house. Yeah, she was definitely becoming a newsie one day.

* * *

**A/N: Hello! I know Switch was supposed to be updated by now if you're keeping up with that, but I've been having a bit of difficulty in starting the chapter, so that might be on hold for a little bit. I have a few things to say:**

**I'm using stage!Mush's appearance. I considered Mush from the movie, but I don't feel like it would make much sense, especially since everything else takes place the way the musical does.**

**I don't know Mush's real name for sure. I've heard Michael, and I've heard Nick. I decided to look it up, and more sources said Nick than Michael, so that's what I went with. Please don't be mad uwu**

**I know it's kinda weird for me to start with a flashback, and I worried that it might seem a bit exposition-y, but literally every other way I tried didn't turn out quite right, so this is what I went with. The rest of the story takes place in 1899.**

**Thanks for reading! It would be greatly appreciated if you could review and let my know what you liked (or didn't like)!**

**-mouse :)**


	2. In Which We Meet New Kid

Chapter Two: In Which Mush Has an Interesting Morning and Hannah is Tired

Word Count: 3,803

_Manhattan, 1899_

"Hey Specs, Racer, Henry, Albert, Elmer - get a move on, them papes don't sell themselves!"

Mush had been delaying getting up as long as he could, but now that Jack had finally called out and the other newsies were awakening, whatever extra few minutes of precious slumber he'd been hoping to get in were gone - out the window.

He'd been having a particularly interesting dream about all the newsies as dogs, which didn't make much sense now that he thought about it, but he had been eager to see where it went nonetheless. He sat up slowly, resisting the urge to groan as Race walked through the lodge shouting. "Albert, Elmer, Specs! You heard Jack, get a move on!"

Mush and the others got up and pulled their clothes on (Spalsher had stolen his hat, so it actually took him longer than normal) , then headed out for the gates, per usual.

"I was havin' the most beautiful dream," Albert complained. "My lips are still tinglin'!"

"Ooh, a pretty girl?" Race asked, playfully nudging the redheaded newsie.

"A leg of lamb."

By this point, some of the other newsies were starting to convene here, waiting for the morning bell to ring.

Just then, Albert took Race's precious cigar.

"Hey, that's my cigar!"

"You'll steal another," Albert replied dismissively.

"Hey, look! Guess the zoo finally decided to wash its animals," Specs teased as Henry applied shaving cream to his face.

"I thought I'd surprise my mother."

"If you can find her," Albert muttered.

"_Who asked you_?"

Race snatched his cigar back as Albert lamented about how he needed to find a new place to sell. It was a typical morning at the Lodge.

Day to day, the newsies carried the banner, and as hot and exhausting as it sometimes was...

At least it beat washing dishes.

"Well, hello, hello, hello, beautiful," Romeo said as he reached the gates. An attractive woman latched onto the arm of a well-dressed man was passing by, and of course Romeo couldn't pass up the opportunity. The woman raised an uninterested eyebrow, which was when Jack stepped in.

"Woah, step down Romeo, nothin' more concerns you here - mornin', Miss? Can I interest you in the latest news?"

"The paper isn't out yet."

"I'd be delighted to deliver it to you _personally_."

The man she was with opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand. She would do this herself. "I've got a headline for you: 'Cheeky Boy Gets _nothing _for his troubles." She made absolute certain to emphasize the _nothing_. Mush had to smile.

"Back to the bench, slugger. You struck out!"

"I'm crushed!"

"Hey Crutchie! What's your leg say? Gonna rain?" Finch asked. Mush walked over. This was much more interesting than watching Jack and Romeo flirt with people (no offense to Jack and Romeo!).

"Eh, no rain… Partly cloudy, clear by evenin'."

"Ah, they oughta bottle this guy!"

"Yeah, and the limp sells fifty papes a week, all by itself - "

"I don't need the limp to sell papes. I got _personality. _

Mush teasingly made on _Oh, right_ face. As Crutchie rattled off all the aspects of his charming personality and Elmer and some others teased him about it, Mush engaged in a mock sword fight with Romeo. Finch had just started complaining about how long this was taking when the nuns showed up.

The nuns came almost every day, bearing food and drink. Even in its meager amount, everyone was grateful - this might be all they got for a while.

"Blessed children, though you wander lost and depraved," they began their usual poem-prayer thing as they handed out food. "Jesus loves you, you shall be saved."

"Hey, thanks for the grub, sister!"

"Elmer," one of the nuns said sternly, "when are we going to see you _inside_ the church?"

"I dunno, sister, but it's bound to rain sooner or later!"

Mush chortled along with everyone else and the nun sighed, exasperated.

It was nice, this time they had before the bell. Whatever they got up to was different with every day. Papers were all he had, but fortunately, those papers included newsboys (well, newsboys and a girl) on the other end of them, which was all he needed.

They continued making their way to the gates, discussing what made a good headline and what would boost sales. Poor Elmer suggested a crooked politician, but his opinion was quickly shut down by everyone else's unanimous agreements that "that ain't news no more."

"Hey look, they're puttin' up the headline!" Finch exclaimed as they approached.

"I hope it's real bloody with a nice clear picture!"

"Yeah!"

Expectancy hung thick in the air…

_Trolley Strike Enters Third Week_

A collective groan escaped everyone's mouths.

"The trolley strike? Oh, not again."

"Man, three weeks of the same story. "

"They're killin' us with that snoozer!" Finch remarked rather petulantly, and Mush found he was inclined to agree. The Trolley Strike, like most headlines, was apparently only interesting when it was new. For the first week, everyone was buzzing with excitement and sales shot up dramatically. By the end of the second week, people had started to lose interest, and now they were pushing a third? At this rate, they _would _be dead soon.

Mush heard a soft, exasperated groan from Cassie next to him. He was tempted to so the same when he realized what she was groaning at.

"Hey, make way. Step aside!"

"Dear me, what _is _that unpleasant aroma?" Race drawled, taking extra care to stare Oscar and Morris in the eye. "I fear the sewers may have backed up durin' the night."

"Or could it be…" Crutchie nudged Race.

"The Delaney Brothers!" everyone chorused in perfect unison. Oscar unlocked the gate.

"Hey, Oscar, word on the street says you and your brother took money to beat up striking trolley workers."

"So?" replied Oscar, not sounding the slightest bit compunctious. "It's honest work."

"By crackin' the heads of defenseless workers!"

"Hey, I take care of the guy who takes care of me."

"Ain't your father one of the strikers?"

"Guess he didn't take care of me."

In that moment, Mush almost felt sad for the Delanceys - but it was only for a moment, while he had forgotten everything they'd done to him and everyone else. Then Oscar pushed Race.

Mush didn't know when Morris pushed Crutchie, but the next thing he knew, Romeo was holding him back from attacking. "Jack will handle it," he whispered.

"Hey, that is not nice, Morris." Jack said angrily.

"Five to one Jack skunks 'im!" Everyone muttered in agreement.

"One unfortunate day, you might find you've got a bum gam of your own. How'd you like us pickin' on you, huh?" The leader of the newsies turned around curiously. "Hey, how's about we find out?" And quickly, before anyone could react, he snatched Cructhie's crutch and whacked both of the Delanceys in the shins. He darted off, leaving Crutchie in Albert's arms and everyone to cheer, "Go, Jack!"

When they (finally!) arrived at the paper stand, they all lined up as Weasel called to them.

"Mornin' Weasel, didja miss me?"

"The name's _Weisel._"

"Ain't that what I said? I'll take the usual."

Cassie tapped Mush's shoulder from behind him. "Do you think anything interesting will happen soon? Like, today?"

Mush thought for a moment, and when he didn't immediately reply, Cassie backtracked slightly. "Sorry. That sounds kind of whiny. But the strike? Again? What is _so_ interesting about a strike that they can't find _anything_ else to write about?"

He shrugged. "Somethin', I guess. But I'se sure we'll get somethin' different…eventually…"

"Ever the optimist, aren't you, now?"

Mush grinned. "That's me. Mush Meyers, 'Hattan's resident idealist."

"The title suits you." Cassie grinned. Suddenly, she seemed very interested in something happening further up the line.

"Hey, look at this, a new kid!" Weasel was saying.

"I'm new, too!" cried a little kid indignantly, peeking out at Weasel from behind the taller boy.

"Oh, don't worry kid, it rubs right off." Race muttered.

"Yeah."

"I'll take twenty papers, please," the new kid cut in.

"Right, twenty papers for the new kid."

There was a silence. Nothing happened.

"And let's see the dime?" Weasel prompted.

"Oh, I'll pay when I sell them."

"Come on kid, cash up front."

"But…whatever I _don't_ sell, you buy back, right?"

Mush was strongly tempted to roll his eyes as they went on. This kid was new, alright. The system was weird, yes, but that was just how things were. New Kid would definitely need to learn to ropes.

"Certainly! Oh, and every time you lose a tooth I put a penny under your pillow. Come on kid, cash up front."

New Kid finally conceded and put his money down. The line moved up.

"I'm gonna be honest with you," Cassie said, "I dunno how long he'll last."

"Wow, ye of little faith. And here I thought you was supposed to be the acceptin' one."

"Well, he seems observant,and it wasn't as if he was at the very front of the line. Surely he would have noticed what everyone was doing?"

"You can never assume, I guess. But give him a chance. He might just do somethin' to impress you. 'Sides, it's only his first day on the job. Don't act like you were much better on _your_ first day."

Cassie shrugged. "Alright, Mush, you win. You've convinced me."

"That didn't take much convincin'," he muttered, somewhat pleased with himself.

"That's 'cause you're right…" she trailed off. Again, something up front intrigued her.

"See how nice I was to this new kid, and what do I get for my civility? Ungrounded accusations."

"I just want what I paid for - hey!"

Jack had taken New Kid's papers and started to look through the pile.

"He said beat it," Oscar protested

"Woah, woah, New Kid's right, Weasel, you gave him nineteen. Look, I'm sure it's an honest mistake on account of Oscar can't count to twenty with his shoes on."

Oscar, looking scandalized, lunged for Jack but was held back by Weasel.

"Here's your paper, take a hike."

Jack slammed a quarter on the box."Give the new kid fifty more papes."

"I don't want more papes," New Kid replied dismissively.

At this the newsies looked around at each other. "What kinda newsie don't want more papes?"

"I'm no charity case. I don't even know you."

"His name's Jack," The smaller child responded, sounding almost disappointed in New Kid (his brother, probably), which Mush found sort of funny considering Smaller New Kid had only just learned of Jack.

"Yeah, this here is the famous Jack Kelly," Crutchie said, getting up. "He once escaped jail on the back of Teddy Roosevelt's carriage. Made all the papes."

"So how old are ya, kid?" Jack asked to Smaller New Kid.

"I'm ten." Smaller New Kid paused. "Almost."

"Well if anybody asks, you're seven. Younger sells more papes, and if we're gonna be partners - "

"Who said we want a partner?"

"Selling with Jack is the chance of a lifetime! You learn from him, you learn from the best."

"if he's the best, what's he need with me?"

"'Cause you got a little brother and I don't. With that puss, we could easy sell a thousand papes a week. Hey, look sad kid."

Smaller New Kid did an exaggerated pout, and Mush found himself smiling along with New Kid and Crutchie. A quick glance backwards told him Cassie was doing the same.

"Oh, we're gonna make millions!"

"I'm Les, and this is my brother David. He's older."

"Oh, no kiddin'." Jack turned. "It's nice to meet you, Davey. My two bits come off the top, and we split everything else seventy-thirty."

"Fifty-fifty. You wouldn't try to pull a fast one on a little kid?"

By now both Mush and Cassie had gotten their papes and were watching the interesting exchange between the two.

"I like this Les kid," Cassie whispered, smirking.

"Sixty-forty, and that is my final offer."

Les looked at his brother, who shrugged. "Deal."

They did a spit shake, and Mush chuckled when Davey said, "That's disgusting."

"That's just business. Newsies, hit the streets! The sun is up, the headline stinks and this kid ain't gettin' any younger!"

And they were off, another day carrying the banner.

Hannah sat cross-legged in her chair, a notepad open in her lap and a pencil in her hand. Pulitzer was reading the newspaper, his eyebrows knit in what Hannah assumed was disappointment.

"Gentlemen, The World is in trouble. Our circulation is down for the third quarter in a row."

_Gentlemen_. Because obviously, she was the nice lady from the flower shop who stopped by to deliver some roses while Pulitzer just so happened to be having an important discussion with his _actual, male _employees.

Honestly, Hannah couldn't care less about The World. She read it sometimes, actually, but she wouldn't be as devastated as some people would if it crashed and burned.

The job paid well, and since her husband was resting up from his strike injuries, she had to put the food on the table for him and their children every night. And as grueling as it often was, she'd grown accustomed to her job at The World. When she didn't have to actually talk with people, it really was quite nice.

"But Mr. Pulitzer, every paper's circulation is down since the war ended," Seitz remarked.

"Whoever said 'war is hell' wasn't trying to sell newspapers."

"We could use an exciting headline."

It was true. The Trolley Strike had been front page news for almost a month. It was long past stale at this point.

"What have we got today?"

"They trolley strike."

"That's not exciting? It's epic - "

"It's _boring_," Hannah corrected, cutting him off. She normally wasn't this snappy, but she was tired, and it was a Monday, and she already, at eleven o'clock in the morning, just wanted to go home. Her shoes were killing her and her hair was up too tight. She felt she had the right to be a little bit grumpy. "Folks wanna know - is the trolley comin', or am I walkin'? No one cares why."

Pulitzer looked almost pensive, as if he were debating whether to agree with her or fire her on the spot because _Joseph Pulitzer was just so incredible and revered and nobody talked to him that way, especially not a _woman_, of all people. _

Luckily, Hannah's job was (potentially) saved by Seitz cutting in. "Plus, the strike's about to be settled. Governor Roosevelt just put his support behind the workers."

Pulitzer scoffed in disgust. "Ugh, that man is a socialist."

"Teddy Roosevelt is no socialist," Seitz said with a gleam in his eye. "He's an American hero."

Hannah resisted the strong urge to roll her eyes to the very back of her head. From the way Seitz talked about Roosevelt so often and so fondly, you'd think he was in love with the man. Maybe he was.

"The man wants to outlaw football for being too violent. Football? Violent? You're right - he's no socialist, he's a commie."

"Mr. Pulitzer, you must try to sit still," Nunzio, Pulitzer's hairdresser, pleaded in a thick Italian accent.

_Yes, Mr. Pulitzer, please. _

"Gentlemen, please. You're making Nunzio nervous. And when Nunzio gets nervous…I don't look pretty."

There it was again. Gentlemen. Hannah stood up. "You never liked Roosevelt," she said, trying to take extreme caution with her words lest she accidentally implied her true feelings about Pulitzer and how he saw things. She was _sure _she'd lose her job then. "You wrote an editorial day after day when he ran for Governor, and guess what? He got elected."

"How can I influence voters if they are not reading my opinion?" Pulitzer shouted.

Ooh, touchy subject.

"Big photos attract readers," Seitz cut in again.

"Do you have any idea what big photos cost?"

"But without flag photos and headlines, how are we supposed to sell more papers?"

"The answer is right before your eyes! You're not thinking this through. People…"

_Oh, no, _Hannah thought dryly. Her employer was making that face again. The one he always made when he was about to lecture them,usually about how they were missing something that was right under her noses. _Gee, how stupid we are. _

He launched into some sort of analogy about how the bottom line was like…getting a haircut. "It's the simplest solutions that bolster the bottom line."

"So, how does that help us sell more papers?"

_We don't sell papers, silly. Newsies sell papers,_ Hannah thought.

"Exactly…silly. _Newsies _sell papers."

Had she said that out loud?

Oh, well.

Suddenly, Bunsen snapped his fingers. "I got it! Right now, we charge the newsies fifty cents for a hundred papers. But if we raised their price to _sixty_ cents per hundred…"

"Now you're getting somewhere!"

"A mere tenth of a penny per paper?"

"Every single newsie would have to sell ten more papers just to earn the same amount as always!"

"My thoughts exactly. It's genius!"

"But it's going to be awfully rough on those children!" Having met many of the newsies personally, and having children of her own, Hannah knew this would be exactly the case.

"They're going to be getting a real life lesson in economics. I couldn't offer them a better education if they were my own!"

_But I could. _Hannah knew she was being unnecessarily bitter. She knew her grumpy thoughts were the result of sleepless nights tending to her youngest child and his nightmares. She knew that after all this she'd be able to go home…the thought calmed her a bit, and she took a deep breath. Back to agreeing with everything Pulitzer said.

"Every new outcome is income for you, thanks to that bottom line!"

**A/N: ****I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was a lot of fun to write. I literally just rewatched Newsies and wrote down Nicholas Masson's reactions to everything. Turns out, he's pretty expressive as Mush, so that was fun... Anyway, I would love if you could review and let me know what you liked and didn't like. Thanks! :)**


	3. In Which We Meet Katherine

Chapter Three: In Which The World Will Know and We Meet Katherine

Word Count: 3, 067

_Manhattan, 1899_

"Man, them fire sirens kept me awake all night," Race complained.

"Fire sirens is like lullabies to me," Mush said. "The louder they wail, the better the headline. The better the headline, the better I eat. And the better I eat - "

"The further away from you I sleep."

Cassie laughed, and Mush opened his mouth to retaliate, but Davey and Les walked up.

"Morning everybody. Sorry we're late, we had to help our mom with something."

"Oh, they got a mother!" Race exclaimed. "I was gonna get me one."

"...What'd ya do with the one ya had?" Romeo asked.

"He traded her for a box of cigars!"

"'Ey, they was Coronas!"

"We got a father, too!" Les added.

"Oh, a mother and a father."

"Hey, ain't we the hoi polloi?"

"So how's it going today?" Les asked, decidedly changing the subject.

"Ask me after they put up the headline."

"Here it comes now!"

When it was done being written, Cassie couldn't believe her eyes. She was sure the case was the same for everyone else. "New newsie price?" Albert cried. "Sixty cents per hundred?!"

"What'd you say?"

"Is that news?" Davey asked, sounding the slightest bit confused. Cassie wanted to roll her eyes, but didn't, remembering what Mush had said the day before. Of course, Davey wouldn't know, but still...she sped over to get a closer look.

"It is to me!" Elmer said in disbelief.

"They jacked up the price of papes. Ten cents more a hundred!"

"I could eat two days on a dime!"

"I don't believe this," Cassie whispered to herself. Ten cents more a hundred? As Elmer had said, they could eat two days on a dime. Pulitzer made so much money already, and here he was, trying to make more. It didn't make sense. The more she thought about it, the more upset she became. Pulitzer had never cared about them to begin with, but she would have thought he'd be satisfied. Apparently not.

"I'll be sleepin' on the streets!" Crutchie said.

"You already sleep on the streets."

"In a worse neighborhood." the newsie replied ominously.

At that moment, Jack finally arrived, and Cassie let out a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding. Jack! Jack could fix this. He'd probably fixed worse in the past. She didn't know how long he'd been a leader, but when he led, they all followed. "Hey, what're you all standin' around here for?"

"Hey Jack, get a load of this," Crutchie said, gesturing to the headline.

"Like Pulitzer don't make enough already."

As Weisel called out for the newsies to come get their papers, Jack waved a perfunctory hand. "Relax, fellas, it's gotta be a gag."

"Line up boys."

"Good joke, Weasel, ya really got the fellas goin'." Jack said, laughing as if it really was just one big prank. One thing Cassie admired about Jack Kelly was that he had no fears. At least, none that she was aware of. He approached every confrontation and scenario with ease and confidence, and a small part of her truly did want to believe that it was a joke. The rest of her knew that it was extremely unlikely, but who knew? Maybe Weisel would say something like "Okay, ya got me," and there would be a different, exciting headline and everything would go back to normal. "I'll take a hundred an' be on my way."

"A hundred'll cost ya sixty."

Jack's easygoing smile faltered. "I ain't payin' no sixty."

"Then make way for someone who will." Weisel snarled, and Jack looked down. No, thought Cassie, he's not going to give up that easily.

"You bet!" The oldest newsboy said after a moment. "Me and the fellas will take a hike over to The Journal!"

"Yeah!" shouted Cassie with everyone else.

"Ain't worth the walk," Specs said, running up. "They upped their prices too."

Jack thought. "Then we'll take our business to The Sun!"

"Same all around town. New day, new price." For the first time (surprisingly!) since she'd become a newsie, Cassie wanted nothing more than to punch the smug smirk off Weisel's face. She didn't know how to punch, of course, so even without the repercussions, she wouldn't be able to, but at the very least, she could enjoy the imagination. At this point, Jack was letting his anger surface.

"Well, why the jack-up?"

"For those kinds of answers, you gotta ask further up the food chain." So are ya buyin'? Or movin' on?"

Jack didn't answer. "Come here, fellas. Come here."

"They can't just do that, can they?" Albert asked angrily.

"Why not? It's their paper."

"It's their world."

"Ain't we got no rights?"

"We got the rights to starve! Let's just get our papes and hit the streets while we still can." Cassie nodded in agreement. She had to agree with Crutchie. They might be able to afford a few things for a few days, but it was highly unlikely they wouldn't be able to keep it up for very long. Everyone else broke out in shouts of agreement or disagreement or neutrality, so that no one could hear what anyone else was saying.

"Hold on!" Jack shouted. "No one is payin' no new nothin'."

"Ya got an idea?"

"Would ya keep your shirt on and let me think this through?"

They started yelling again.

"Stop crowding him!" screamed Les, pushing people out of the way. "Let the man work it out!"

Apparently, the newsies thought this was a good idea, because they were all silent for a moment. Cassie watched Jack from her perch next to Romeo. He was clearly concentrating hard.

"Hey Jack. Ya still thinking?" Les asked after a moment of silence.

"Sure, he is. Can't ya smell smoke?"

Another moment passed, and Jack waved them back over. "Alright, here's the deal. If we don't sell papes, nobody sells papes. No one gets to that window until they put the price back where it belongs."

"You mean like a strike?" asked Davey.

"Well, you heard Davey – we're goin' on strike!"

"No, no, I didn't say that - " Davey tried to protest, but his voice was quickly drowned out by everyone else's. A strike? They couldn't go on strike. It'd be bad enough if they were planning on buying the papers with the upped prices. At least they'd be making some money. But now? How long could they go on not making any at all?

"We shut down this place, just like them workers shut down the trolleys!"

"Yeah, and the cops'll bust our heads!" Finch admonished. "Half of them strikers is laid up with broke bones!" Yes! And that was another thing. Even if they could last long enough for the ever-stubborn Pulitzer to agree to roll back prices, they could end up injured or even in the refuge. Cassie was liking this strike idea less and less with every second. But then, it wasn't as if she'd argue with Jack either. He usually knew what he was doing.

"The cops ain't gonna care about a bunch of kids. Right Davey?"

"Leave me out of this! I'm just here trying to feed my family."

Cassie scoffed quietly. As much as she disagreed with the prospect of a strike, this was worse. What did he think, that they enjoyed slaving away in the sun and rain and snow selling papers they probably wouldn't even read themselves?

"What, and the rest of us is here on playtime?" He lowered his voice. "Just because we only make pennies don't give them to right to rub our noses in it."

"I know, but it doesn't matter. You can't strike, you're not a union."

"What if I says we is?" Jack said, a little louder.

"There's a lot of stuff you gotta have in order to be a union. Like...membership."

That was very true.

"What do you call these guys?" Jack asked. He gestured to them.

Romeo waved cheerfully beside her, and she looked and saw the other newsies doing the same.

"And...and officers."

"I nominate Jack president!" Crutchie exclaimed quickly.

"Gee, I'm touched."

"What about a statement of purpose?"

"Yeah, I must've left that in my other pants."

Jack had a point. Obviously, these weren't all the requirements, but if he wanted them to be a union, she supposed they could be. This strike thing was obviously something he was serious about. A lot of the things Jack planned never came to fruition – he did best, Cassie noticed, when he was thinking on his feet. But something about the idea of striking must have clicked in his head because he was not letting up.

Race raised his hand. "Uh, what's a statement of purpose?"

"A reason for forming the union."

"Well, what reasons did the trolley workers have?"

"I dunno! Wages, work hours, safety on the job..."

"Well, who don't need that?"

The newsies all choroused their agreement, and Jack lowered his voice again. She couldn't make out what he was saying, but it must have either been something really clever or really personal, because Davey made a face like, you didn't.

"So, are union is hereby formed to watch each others' backs. Union'd we stand – hey, that's not bad! Somebody write that down."

"I got a pencil!" Les offered.

"Well, meet our secretary of state!"

'If you wanna strike, the membership's gotta vote."

"Okay, so we'll vote. What do ya say, fellas – the choice is yours - do we roll over and let Pulitzer pick our pockets, or do we strike?"

Well, when you put it that way...

She still didn't think the strike was the best idea...but it couldn't hurt to try. And she had to admit, she was impressed. With the other newsies' determination, and with Davey's formalities – everyone seemed to have thought this through.

"Strike!"

"You heard the voice of the membership. The newsies of Lower Manhattan are officially on strike!"

"Uh, wouldn't our strike me more effective if someone in charge knew about it?"

"Well, it would be a pleasure to tell Weasel myself!"

"Yeah, and who tells Pulitzer, huh? Davey?"

"I don't know..." Davey glanced over and smiled. "I guess you do, Mr. President."

"Hey,_ we_ do. So what-what do we tell 'im?"

"Well, that newspaper owners need to respect our rights as employees."

"Yeah, Pulitzer and Hearst gotta respect the rights of the workin' kids of this city!"

"They can't just change the rules whenever they feel like it!"

"That's right! We do the work, so we get a say!"

Davey looked around at the expectant faces of all the newsies and his face broke into a grin. "We got a union!"

* * *

The excitement of the strike hadn't quite died down, but everyone had worn themselves out. Jack, Davey, and Les had visited the World and were promptly kicked out, leaving Les to shout at the closing doors how "you can tell Pulitzer that a few days into this strike, he's gonna be beggin' for an appointment to see me. You got that?" and then deciding that he got it. So they made their way to Jacobi's Deli, where Jacobi served them water sometimes on particularly hot days.

"And who's the big spender that ordered the seltzer?"

"Over here," Albert called, raising a hand.

"That'll be two cents."

"Two cents for a glass of seltzer? Ah, just gimme a water."

"How did I ever see that coming?" Jacobi said sarcastically, handing Albert the "extra" water on the tray.

"I'd say we launched our strike in a most auspicious manner," Davey declared, raising his glass.

Mush saw Cassie nod, but other than that, there was no response. Mostly just confused silence. "I don't know about that," he started, not entirely sure what auspicious meant, "but we sure scared the bejeebers out of Weasel!"

Everyone agreed, and Crutchie added, "Oh, and didja see the Delanceys? They didn't know which way was up!" They laughed.

"So what's next?"

"Oh, well, now we have to spread the word. Let the rest of the city's newsies know about the strike."

"You heard the man, let's go out and spread the word!"

"I'll take Harlem," Mush offered, standing up.

"Oh, I got Midtown."

"I got the Bronx."

"And I got the Bowery.

"Specs, you take Queens. Tommy Boy, you take the East Side. And who wants Brooklyn?"

Mush sat back down and covered his face with his hat. He didn't even have to look to know that everyone else was doing the same.

"Come on, Brooklyn!" Jack urged. "Spot Conlon's turf?"

No one responded.

"Finch! You're tellin' me you're scared of Brooklyn?"

"I ain't scared of no turf!" Finch, who was known for not fearing anything (or at least trying not to let on that he was), replied. Mush looked up at him. "But that Spot Conlon gets me a little...jittery."

"Fine, me and Davey will take Brooklyn."

"Me? No, I - "

"Why is everyone so scared of Brooklyn?" asked a woman's voice. The smartly dressed woman from yesterday entered and everyone turned to look at her.

"What're you doin' here?"

"Asking a question. Have you got an answer?"

Jack sighed and stepped down from the table. "Brooklyn is the sixth largest city in the entire world. Ya got Brooklyn, ya hit the motherlode." He paused. "Say, for someone who works for The Sun, you'se spendin' an awful lot of time hangin' around at The World. What's that about, huh? You followin' me?" He ducked behind Davey's chair dramatically. Mush looked on, wondering how they knew each other – because they _very clearly_ knew each other.

"The only thing I'm following is a story," the girl said. "A ragtag gang of ragamuffins wants to take on the king-makers of New York? Do you think you have a chance?"  
"Shouldn't you be at the ballet?" Jack asked. The newsies all laughed (except for Cassie, Mush saw, who had an eyebrow raised).

"Aw, is the question too difficult? I'll rephrase. Will the richest and most powerful men in New York give the time of day to a gang of kids who haven't got a nickel to their name?" she asked, in a tone similar to that of someone who was explaining something to a small child.

"Hey, you don't gotta be insultin'!" Cructhie called. "I got a nickel."

The woman smiled shortly. "So, I guess you could say you're a couple of Davids looking to take on Goliath."

"Um, we never said that," Davey stepped in.

"You didn't have to. I did."

"You know, I've read a lot of papes in my day, and I never noted no girl reporter writin' the hard news."

"Well, wake up to the new century! The game's changing." She smoothed her skirt. "Now. How about an exclusive interview?"

"Ain't your beat entertainment?"

"Oh, this is entertaining. So far."

"WHat's the last news story you wrote?" Jack asked, getting in her face.

"What's the last strike you organized?" she retorted without missing a beat. Everyone ooohed. Their faces were only inches apart when Romeo stepped up.

"You're out of your league, Kelly. Methinks the lady needs to be handled by a _real_ man."

Mush rolled his eyes but couldn't keep from smiling.

"You thinks wrong, Romeo."

"How'd she know my name?"

"Get outta here," Jack muttered, pushing Romeo away.

Davey walked to Katherine. "I say we save any exclusive for a real reporter."

"Do you see anyone else giving you the time of day?" She sighed. "Alright, so I'm just busting out of the social pages, but...you give me the exclusive, let me run with the story, and I _promise_ I'll get you the space."

"You really think we could be in the papes?" asked Crutchie tentatively.

"You shut down a paper like The World? You're gonna make the front page."

Now _that_ got people's attention.

They started chattering excitedly as Jack said, "You want a story? Be outside the circulation gates tomorrow mornin' and you'll get one. Oh, and bring your camera. You're gonna want to snap a picture of this!"

"Let's go boys, play outside, I gotta set up for dinner and I got payin' customers who need the tables," Jacobi said, coming back in.

"Come on, we got newsies to visit!"

"Yeah, you won't be shooin' us off when we get our mugs in the papes!"

They helped Jacobi clean up and headed outside, energy and excitement levels high again.

Walking back to the Lodge, Cassie and Romeo caught up to Mush.

"So. We're really going through with this, huh?" Cassie asked.

"Yep. I mean, hey, you wanted somethin' interestin' to happen, didn't ya?"

"I guess, but this seems pretty precarious."

"What?" Romeo interjected.

"Uncertain. We don't know what's gonna happen with this. You heard what Finch said! We could get seriously injured."

"Cassie, we could get seriously injured just by bein' alive. Why not try somethin' new?"

"Yeah," agreed Romeo. "And besides, it'll probably only last a few days. When Pulitzer realizes that he ain't makin' money, he'll realize what he did and roll back prices."

"Exactly."

"I hope you're right."

"I always am," he said, grinning.

* * *

**A/N: I wasn't entirely sure how to end this chapter so there ya go**

**I really wanted to paraphrase/write The World Will Know, but it wasn't turning out right, and I love the song. I didn't want to ruin it lol. Anyway, I tried, so I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I would love it if you could review with what you liked (or didn't) or anything you'd like to see!**

**-mouse :)**


	4. In Which We Watch What Happens

Chapter Four: In Which We Watch What Happens and Cassie Remembers Things

_Manhattan, 1899_

"So, what's your story? Are you selling papers to work your way through art school?" Katherine asked. It seemed logical, right? She thought back to the flattering drawing of her he'd drawn at the Bowery. She usually hated when people flirted with her – not that it wasn't particularly charming, it was just that she didn't have time for that sort of thing – and brushed off their attempts, but Jack Kelly's stuck in her mind. He was a fantastic artist, so she was expecting something like, "Yes," or (in true Sarcastic Jack Kelly fashion), "What do you think?"

She certainly was not, however, expecting him to say, "Art school? You're kiddin' me, right?"

"But you're an artist! You've got real talent. You should be inside the paper illustrating, not outside hawking it."

"Well, maybe that ain't what I want."

"So, tell me what you want."

"Can't you see it?" Jack asked, getting closer. "In my eyes?"

"Yeah, okay," Katherine replied, vaguely amused but still uninterested. Anyway. "Have you always been their leader?"

"Hey, I'm a blowhard. Davey's the brains."

She scribbled it down in her notepad. "Modesty is not a quality I would've pinned on you."

"You got a name?"

"Katherine," she replied hesitantly, wondering whether she should reveal her real last name. Probably not, considering Jack and his friends hated Pulitzer, but there was something about him that she felt she could trust...oh well. Better safe than sorry. "Plumber."

"What's the matter, ain't ya sure?"

"It's my byline." she said. "The name I publish under." She waited a moment, but he never asked her real one. She sighed internally with relief. "Now tell me about tomorrow. What are you hoping for?"

"I'd rather tell you what I'm hopin' for tonight." Jack moved so he was once again a mere inches away from her face.

"Mr. Kelly?"

Jack sighed and turned around. "Today, we stopped the newsies from carryin' the papes, but the wagons still deliver to the rest of the city. Tomorrow, we stop the wagons."

"Are you scared?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Do I look scared?" He paused. "But, uh...ask me again in the mornin'."

"Good answer!" Katherine responded, quickly writing it down. "Good night, Mr. Kelly."

"Hey, where you runnin'?" Jack called after her. "It ain't even suppertime!"

She turned. "I'll see you in the morning. And off the record...good luck." She continued walking, when Jack called behind her again.

"Hey, hey, Plumber! Write it good. We both got a lot ridin' on ya."

She smiled and nodded, making a mental promise to herself that she would.

Katherine arrived in her office and immediately put paper into the typewriter. "You heard the man," she said to no one in particular. "'Write it good.' Write it good or it's back to wheezing your way through the flower show. No pressure. Let's go."

She started typing, her fingers flying across the letters. "'Newsies Stop the World.' Huh. A little hyperbole never hurt anyone. 'With all eyes fixed on the trolley strike, there's another battle brewing in the city...' and if I could just write about it!" Frustrated, she tore the paper out of the typewriter. "Come on Katherine, those boys are counting on you!" She paused. And what would she give them? "...Oh, you poor boys."

"Write what you know" is the most basic advice one could give a writer, and so she mostly tried to abide by it. There was only one problem in this particular case – she had no idea what to write or how she'd go about writing it. She sat, feeling suddenly despondent. Something about this strike was really intriguing to her. Not just as a writer, but as a person. Her heart absolutely broke for those newsboys (and the newsgirl with them) and it mattered to her that this story be flawless. Otherwise, who would want to read it? This was big. Much bigger than any vaudeville or flower show she'd ever reviewed.

The story was there – poor little kids versus rich, greedy, irascible old men. It was enough to make her laugh how easy this should be. In fact, it could practically write itself! But now she realized something else: she had no clue what she was doing.

She stood up and started pacing the floor of her small office. Obviously, she'd write it in support of the newsies. That much was a no-brainer. But what else? On top of her wailing editors, there was a story behind the story. So many children, thousands, at least, exploited and invisible and stronger than she'd ever have guessed. Now after years of this, they were revolting against their unfair treatment. It truly was admirable, and she was going to be the one to write about it, she decided. How would she bring that out?

The newsies were the little guys in life. They were the ones that no one ever paid attention to, except maybe to buy a paper. Just like the trolley workers. People everywhere going about their lives, not knowing or caring about the lives of people like the newsies or trolley workers or anyone else that worked the way they did. Even Katherine had to admit that she never much acknowledged them.

Until now. _I mean, everybody loves an underdog._

She was determined to write the best and most interesting story about the newsies the The World (and the actual world, for that matter) had ever seen.

She sat back down and began writing. "_A modern-day David is poised to take on the rich and powerful Goliath, with the swagger of one twice his age armed with nothing more than a few nuggets of truth, Jack Kelly stands ready to face the behemoth Pulitzer_. Now that is how you turn a boy into a legend." she said aloud, proud of her work. Now, how to frame Jack Kelly...handsome. Heroic. Heroically charismatic. _Plain-spoken, know-nothing, skirt-chasing, cocky little son of a.._.

Lie down with dogs and you'll wake up with fleas...Katherine would wake up with a raise. And maybe a promotion.

Yes, Jack was an egotistical flirt, but he was the face of the strike. _What a face_, she thought. Though there was no denying that Jack Kelly was attractive, she tried to convince herself that she was only thinking of his face and his smile and the way his eyes sparkled for _business purposes_...That face could end up saving them all.

Suddenly, in her musings, a quote popped into her head. _Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely_. She tried to think of who exactly came up with the quote, but it slipped her mind. The saying was perfect though, and she quickly added it to her article. It applied wonderfully to Pulitzer, and she figured there was hope for this yet. Just watch. Katherine would be twice as good as – right! John Acton, that's who it was – someday. Maybe. Six months from...never.

But Katherine hadn't lost all hope yet. It was the turn of the century, and times were changing. Things had already started shifting for the better. Soon, everyone might even be allowed to vote! This was the world they were inheriting, and they could create something even better. The World's mistake was that they got old, but that was not a mistake she'd be making. No, sir, we'll stay young forever!

The new century would bring lots of changes for everyone – changes for the better, she hoped. The newsies against her father, the behemoth Pulitzer, was a classic story of David against Goliath. She didn't know who would win, but she could definitely support Jack and his cause. Maybe her article could be the push that they needed. After all, nothing would happen if no one did anything. So, whatever happened...

They might as well just begin.

* * *

Cassie couldn't sleep. How could she? Front page news! She and everyone else could be on the front page of the very newspapers they sold (well, sold up until now)! It was a thrilling thing to think about, and she could get thrilled very easily.

If you'd told her a couple years ago that she'd eventually agree to go on strike and possibly get her face on the front page of a newspaper – maybe even above the fold! - she would have laughed and asked if you were joking. A lot of things had changed since then, not just her belief in what she would have once considered impossible or unrealistic. When had she become a newsie? A couple years ago? It felt like she'd known these boys forever.

_It was a bright summer morning and unusually cool for early August. She and Nick (or Mush, as the newsies had decided to call him) were outside her house as she gathered her bearings. Mush was busy telling bad jokes and Cassie was trying, with much difficulty, to decide which two of her books to bring with her to the newsboys lodging house. She figured it would be best not to have as many things, so she could leave the books behind, but she really, really didn't want to.__She'd decided to become a newsie. __She didn't tell anyone, not even Mush or Romeo (the latter of whom she'd befriended almost as quickly as she had Mush) why specifically. Just that she'd made her choice._

_In all honesty, she was tired of being constantly yelled at, and talked down, and belittled. She'd tolerated it for over a year and made excuse upon excuse for her aunt's consistently crude behavior. She'd finally, _finally_ had enough, and when she made to mention this she'd been slapped across the face. Quinn had never raised a hand to Cassie, and even she looked surprised. Surprised, but not remorseful._

_Cassie talked to Mush the next day, and they had a conversation which resulted in her only confirming her decision. Now here they were, about to leave this house forever. She was sure Quinn wouldn't even notice she was gone until she realized her dishes were still dirty. At least she'd had the decency to leave a note for her aunt._

_"Okay, I'm ready," she announced._

_"Which of your precious books did you choose?"_

_"The Complete Works of William Shakespeare and The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes."_

_"That is a mouthful," muttered Mush as they started walking. "You realize you might have to carry those around with you all day, right?"_

_"Really? Why?"_

_"Well, the mornin' bell will probably have rung by the time we get there, and then we gotta buy our papers before they're gone."_

_"Oh." She glanced back at the pile of books she'd chosen from. "I'll carry them."_

_Mush chuckled and shook his head. "Only you, Cassie. Never change."_

_"Wouldn't dream of it."_

_The walk to the lodge ended up being fairly shorter than either of them anticipated, so Cassie was able to put her books on an empty bunk, but they would have to rush to get to the distribution center. However, when they got outside, Cassie lagged behind: there was a huge library right outside the lodge. Mush had to call her a few times before she even recognized that she was being called._

Cassie smiled fondly, remembering how she'd claimed that she would have become a newsie sooner had she known, and Mush promised they could visit when they were done selling.

_She stood in line in front of Mush that day, only slightly nervous about selling. She was trying to figure out how she would do it._

_She knew the newsies had a tendency to exaggerate to sell papers, but she never had much of a penchant for lying (or "improving the truth" as Mush so euphemistically phrased it). She'd have to find some other way to appeal to people._

_Before she knew it, she was at the front of the line. A round man holding a cigar gave her a once-over and smiled. Not a warm and inviting smile, though, but more like a mocking one that Cassie didn't much appreciate. "Well, well, well, what have we here? A new kid – and a girl, no less!"_

_Curious-sounding chatter arose, and she wondered if they reacted this way to everyone new. "Uh, can I have twenty papers, please?"_

_"Alright, twenty papes for the new girl."_

_Cassie handed him a dime and collected her papers from a surly looking boy who couldn't have been much older than Racetrack._

Oscar Delancey. He was a lot meaner now (not to her in particular but to most of the other newsies) Back then, she'd guessed his sour expression was a result of being forced to stand in the sun handing papers to newsboys...maybe all that sun exposure made him permanently rude. Cassie leaned back and propped herself on her elbows. She should probably go to sleep soon, but she had stayed awake too long and now she wasn't tired. It was sort of annoying that things worked like that, she thought.

_Everyone had arrived back to the lodge, and Cassie was granted a warm welcome from all of the newsies. She felt a little self-conscious, as one often did in new places, but quickly assimilated – these people were very inviting._

_She and Mush left later to look at the library. They were about to head inside when Mush gasped and ran around the side._

_"What? What is – oh."_

_He'd run around to pet a small, ginger cat_

_.__"Cassie, look! It's so cute!" he exclaimed, picking it up and holding it out to her._

_She took a couple steps back. "N-no, I'm good..."_

_"But just look at it! It's adorable! Come pet it."_

_"No thank you."_

_Mush put the cat down and started stroking it in his lap. "Cassie, are you...scared of cats?"_

_She flushed and shook her head. "No..."_

_"Cassie! You are!"_

_"No," she repeated. "They just...aren't my favorite animals."_

_Mush sighed. "Come here an' pet the cat."_

_"Why?"_

_"That ain't somethin' you'd say if you wasn't scared of cats."_

_Cassie gave him a look but went and sat next to him._

_"Now pet him."_

_"Uh..."_

_"Give me one reason why you do not want to pet him."_

_"He has...claws..."_

_"Alright, that's a reason, yes, but it ain't a good reason. Here." Mush replied, and before she realized what he was doing, he had taken her hand and put it on the cat. _

_She didn't know what she had been expecting, but whatever it was, this was a lot better. The cat had really soft fur._

_"See? That ain't so bad."_

_"It ain't," Cassie agreed, laughing quietly._

They'd never ended up going to the library after all.

Cassie sighed softly, realizing that if she didn't get some sleep within the next thirty minutes, she was going to be positively lethargic the next day and probably wouldn't get any papers sold. She smiled drowsily and closed her eyes.

"_Hey," Mush had said, smiling, on the first night she was a newsie. "Everything is gonna work out."_

* * *

**A/N : What's the best thing about Switzerland? I don't know, but the flag's a big plus!**

**There's a Bad Mush Joke for ya ;P **

**Dad jokes and writing are my life sources and I regret nothing. But I digress. This was a fun chapter to write. I ended up being really proud of Katherine's section, so, that was good. And per request of Percie Jean, there was a bit of Cassie's past - don't worry, there will be more detail in future chapters. This whole flashback thing was fun as well! The next chapter will be rather blunt, but I expect it will be entertaining to write and (I hope) to read.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please let me know your thoughts in the reviews!**

**-mouse :)**


	5. In Which Cassie Realizes Things

Chapter Five: In Which Davey is Given Another Nickname and Cassie Has an Important Revelation

Word Count: 1,968

Spot Conlon liked order, and every newsie knew it.

In fact, every person who'd ever met him knew it. It wasn't very difficult to surmise; with the way he stood and spoke – even in his worn clothes and slightly bedraggled general appearance, he emanated leadership and professionalism. Despite possibly being one of the smallest Brooklyn newsies (maybe even one of the smallest newsies in general), there was something about him that commanded respect from everyone else.

The Brooklyn newsies all followed where he led, which was how he liked it.

Most of the newsies in other boroughs didn't mess with them, which was fine.

Today, Jack Kelly visited, which was surprising.

He had another newsie with him. A newcomer, by the looks of it. His skin wasn't browned by the sun as it was bound to be after a while of selling outside, his shoes weren't scuffed or worn and it was very rare for a newsie to be able to afford new shoes as nice looking as his were – this new kid had been there for a week _at most_.

"Well, if it ain't Jack be nimble, Jack be quick."

"I see you moved up in the world, Spot. Got a river view and everything."

As was (mostly) customary amongst newsboys, they did a spit shake, and Spot didn't bother to mask his amusement at Jack's friend recoiling slightly in disgust.

"So, uh, Jacky-boy. What brings ya here to my humble abode?" he asked, leaning against a pole.

"We came to ask ya somethin'."

"I figured. I'se been hearin' things from all over. Harlem, Queens, the East Side – they all say that Jacky-boy's newsies is playin' like they's goin' on strike. That sound about right?"

"Yeah," Jack said.

"Actually, we're not playing," added Jack's friend. "We really are striking."

"Oh, yeah?" Spot looked at him, and then turned back to Jack. "What is this, Jacky-boy? Some kinda walkin' mouth?"

The Manhattan leader glanced at the Mouth and smirked. "Yeah, he's a mouth. But he's a mouth with a brain, and if you got half of one, you'll listen to what he's gotta say."

_Oh, challenging intelligence, are we? Well, go ahead. I could do this all day._ He raised an eyebrow, letting them know that he was listening.

"Well," the Mouth started tentatively, "we started the strike, but then we realized that the Manhattan newsies alone weren't enough to change very many minds. So, uh, we split up and now we're talking to other newsies around the city, trying to convince them to join the strike."

"Yeah, that's what they told me." He stood up completely and looked the Mouth in the eyes. "What'd they tell you?"

The Mouth looked away at first, and glanced at Jack, but then looked back to Spot and held his gaze. "They said they're waiting to see what Spot Conlon's doing. I mean, you're the most famous and respected newsie in all of New York." He paused. "And probably everywhere else. If you, _Spot Conlon_, join the strike, then of course everyone else will, and we'll be unstoppable. That's why you have to join us!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Spot saw Jack give a subtle nod. _Stroking my ego ain't gonna work, Jack, but I ain't gonna correct you either..._

"You're right, Jacky-boy. Brains. But I got brains, too. And more than just half of one. How do I know you bums ain't gonna fold at the first sign of trouble? How do I know ya got what it takes to win?"

"Because I'm tellin' ya Spot."

"That ain't good enough, Jacky-boy," he replied, shaking his head and leaning against the pole again. "You gotta show me."

* * *

"Jacky-boy?" Davey asked when they started the walk back. As far as he knew, no one had ever called Jack that. It didn't seem like something he'd like to be called.

"Walkin' Mouth?" Jack mocked, clearly not wanting to talk about or not knowing why Spot referred to him the way he did.

"So... you've been to Brooklyn before, then?"

Jack nodded. "Spent a month there one night."

Davey started to nod, before realizing that didn't make any sense. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, deciding not to question it. "Is he always that intimidating?"

"He's only intimidatin' if ya let him be, Dave."

"You seem to be the only one that doesn't let him be. All the other newsies seem almost scared of him. I think I was expecting him to be..."

"Taller? More muscular? Scarier-lookin'?"

"...Yeah," he admitted. "One can never assume, I guess."

They walked in silence for a bit.

"Do you think they'll join?"

"Depends. I guess as long as we don't shy away the first time some goon comes at us with a club, they'll be convinced."

"And we won't, right?"

"I dunno, will we?"

Davey shrugged. More silence.

"Spot seems to run his newsies a bit different than the way you do, yeah? More, er, orderly?"

"You callin' me disorderly?"

"Well, not like that!" Davey said quickly. "No, I - "

"I'm just teasin' ya, Davey," Jack replied, chuckling. "Yeah, we don't do things exactly the same. Most of the leaders don't. Stylistic differences, ya know? Spot chooses to run his boys like an army, and I choose to run mine more like...well, a union."

"Oh," Davey chuckled too, though more out of relief that he hadn't offended Jack than anything else. He paused. "Do you...think the strike will go well?" he blurted out.

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's just that, well, no one's done this thing before, right? We could be setting a precedent for a whole new generation of newsie-strikers, and we might do it wrong. Also, we're just kids. Look how banged up the trolley workers got, and they're adults!"

"As I recall, Dave, you were the one who suggested a strike in the first place, correct?"

"Yeah, well, that was an accident. And I didn't suggest it, I compared it to what you were proposing. There's a difference."

"Whatever you say, Davey," Jack said, patting his shoulder. "If you didn't suggest it, you at least put the idea in our heads, and ya can't argue with that."

He couldn't.

It seemed, though, that if Spot Conlon decided they weren't worthy of his and Brooklyn's assistance, everyone would be pretty discouraged. Brooklyn was large – like Jack had mentioned, it was the sixth largest city in the world. Admittedly, it would be useful to have them on Manhattan's side. He could also see why Spot would make them jittery, as – Finch, was it? - had put it. All in all, however, he was glad he'd gone. At least he had an idea of what to expect now.

While it didn't exactly prepare him, per se, it didn't make it any less exciting either.

* * *

There were two things that Cassie realized on the walk back from Harlem.

One being that she really, _really_ liked Mush Meyers.

Two being that she really, _really_ hated that she did.

Now that she thought about it, she was rather surprised she hadn't caught it earlier. She was always thinking about him, always wanting to be around him, always getting that stupidly happy feeling when she was. She had brushed it all off as enjoying being in the presence of her best friend, but now she saw it was more than that.

There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact – Sherlock Holmes._ Or, more technically, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._

Why had she asked to go with him to Harlem? Since she'd realized she hadn't said anything to him the entire walk. When he'd asked why she was so quiet, she'd stammered out some pathetic excuse and then mentally kicked herself for sounding so stupid.

Cassie didn't consider herself an especially perceptive person, but she wasn't a good liar, not even to herself, and she'd read enough romance novels to know what was happening to her.

That did _not_ mean she had to like it.

Mush? Really? Of all people, it had to be the one she was expected to hang around the most!

Cassie had always been great with words. With all the reading she'd done, it might have even been a bit strange if she wasn't. So why, then, was it that whenever she happened to be around Mush, she couldn't seem to form them? It was even worse now that she was acknowledging it.

Of course, she'd had crushes before, but they'd only been on fictional people, like Benvolio Montague or Sherlock Holmes. Never would she have imagined Mush Meyers.

At the very least, someone would figure it out and she could go wallow in her embarrassment for a bit and be done.

"Hey, you sure you're okay? You seem kinda out of it," Mush remarked as they walked.

Instinctively, she nodded. "I'm alright. Just...thinking."

"About what?"

_You_. She wasn't going to say that, obviously. "Uh, the strike. Yeah."

"Why? Are ya nervous?"

"A little," she said honestly. "But all the best things are on the other side of fear."

"Who said that?"

"Me. O-or someone else, probably. Maybe."

Mush chuckled quietly. "You, then."

She nodded. She was realizing something else now: she really liked the sound of Mush's laugh. Mush happened to be the kind of person who laughed often, which was great for her. All she wanted to do was make him smile.

This was all very frustrating to her. And flustering, and exciting, and too many other feelings at once.

_Curse her heart for making her feel things. And curse Mush for being attractive._

"So," Mush began in an effort to break the awkward silence that had once again settled upon them. "What are you readin' now?"

"Pride and Prejudice. It's really interesting."

"Oh yeah? What is it about?"

"It's, um, a romance."

"Nice. Is it any good?"

"Very."

"Cool," Mush said, nodding.

"Mush? What, uh, what would you say if I told you I had a crush on one of the other newsies?"

"Wait, do you?"

"Yes. Maybe. Probably. ...yes."

"Gosh, really? Cassie Anderson, attracted to an actual, livin', breathin' person?"

"Ha ha," she said dryly, in spite of herself.

"Who is it?"

"Er..."

"I promise I won't tell 'im." He paused. "But I might hint at it. Just a little. It's revenge for all those times you've teased me."

_Crap_. How does she get out of this one? "I'm not going to tell you because..."

"Because?"

"I-I dunno. I don't want to."

Mush cast her a sidelong glance but didn't do much else. "Okay, then...I might figure it out though."

"Well, if you do, I'll tell you if it's right or not."

He smirked and said nothing further.

Cassie didn't like the look of that smirk (not literally, she quite enjoyed seeing Mush smile), knowing that he'd probably start guessing soon, and knowing that if he did happen to guess himself it would result in a painfully awkward exchange.

Now all she could do was hope for the best.

* * *

**A/N: Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of By Words the Mind is Winged! Like I'd mentioned in the A/N of the last chapter, it was kind of direct.**

**Many apologies for the lateness of this chapter, and the shortness, and the sort of weird writing, but I've been super busy this past week.**

**Also, today is 9/11, which was a very tragic day for Americans in 2001, so to whomever this may concern, I encourage you to do something today to honor those who lost their lives.**

**On a brighter note, I had a ton of fun writing this chapter, especially Spot's P.O.V, so I hope you liked it!**

**-mouse :)**


	6. In Which The Day Is Seized

Chapter Six: In Which the Day is Seized and the Newsies Fall

Word Count: 2,202

_Manhattan 1899_

"Is it Specs?" Mush asked as they walked back to the lodge.

"No."

"Finch?"

"No."

"Buttons?"

"Nope."

"Really? Who haven't I guessed yet? Is it..." Mush paused thoughtfully. His eyes widened as what looked like realization dawned on his face. "Wait, is it..."

Cassie endeavored to ignore the sudden racing of her heart and looked at him. "Is it...?"

"Is it _Romeo_?"

She tried – and failed – to stifle her relieved and amused laughter as she shook her head. "No. It isn't Romeo."

"Oh, thank goodness. Okay, so who is it then? I've guessed everyone, right?"

"Well..."

"I have, I think. And so far, you ain't said 'yes' to any of 'em!"

They were nearing the lodge now. The sun was sinking below the horizon, turning the sky brilliant hues of purple and pink and orange. "That's 'cause none of them have been right thus far."

"Ugh, I give up."

"Okay, good. I feel a _little_ better."

"Why're ya so worried about me figurin' this out anyway?"

"I, uh, I have my reasons."

"Alright, I'll leave ya alone...for now."

"I'll accept that," Cassie replied as they walked inside. It was unusually empty. She'd never really been to the lodge during the day, when there was hardly anyone inside. It looked like not many people had come back from their trips, and they were only a few newsies who had decided not to go in the first place.

"It's kinda empty in here, ain't it?" Mush said as if reading her mind.

"Yeah." A couple of people looked up at their arrival and waved. Cassie waved back. Mush went over to talk to Romeo, so she sat down on her bunk, pulled out her copy of Pride and Prejudice and started reading. Today, though, despite all her best efforts, she couldn't stay focused on the story. Eventually, she stopped trying to read it and let her mind wander.

She and Mush had just returned from visiting Finnigan, the leader of the Harlem newsies, who was immediately intrigued when they mentioned the strike, although he hadn't made his decision yet, electing to wait until he knew what Brooklyn was going to do. Cassie desperately hoped that Brooklyn would agree; it seemed like the other boroughs might be the same as Harlem had been. Brooklyn was, after all, the sixth largest city in the world. Hopefully, Jack and Davey's trip had gone well.

Speaking of Davey: she'd underestimated him. So far (aside from his unawareness about the way buying papers worked for newsies, of course) he'd proved to be a rather redoubtable companion. He was intelligent and thoughtful, and he'd assisted in helping figure out some of the complications of the strike. In fact, he'd been the one who'd initially suggested it. Cassie figured she owed him an apology sometime soon.

And then there was the strike itself. While she would have been the first to admit that she didn't at first want to go through with it, the more she thought about it, and the more plans they made, the more exciting it seemed to get. Of course, it would have been even better if they could strike and make money at the same time, but since that wouldn't happen, it was more than satisfying to imagine the look on Pulitzer's face when he realized that his efforts to make more money only resulted in him making less.

She glanced over at Mush and Romeo, deep in animated conversation. Then Romeo stood up and walked over to her with a suspiciously smug smirk on his face. "So," he began as he joined her on the bunk. "Who's the lucky fella?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't pretend ya don't know," Romeo continued. "Mush tells me you'se got your eye on someone."

She blinked, trying to feign as much innocence as she could. "And why would he tell you that?"

"Cassie, we both know you'se a terrible liar. Don't even try to deny it. He said that _you _said that if he could guess, you'd tell him if he was right. He's already informed me that it isn't me, so I have a guess for you."

"I said that _Mush _could guess. Not you."

"Well, that's 'cause Mush would never guess himself, ain't it?"

And suddenly Cassie realized that Romeo was a lot smarter than he sometimes seemed. (At least when it came to romance.)

"Am I wrong? I mean, you two would be adorable together. Can I tell 'im?"

Romeo asking this snapped Cassie back to reality and it was only then that she became aware that she was gaping. "_No, you cannot tell him!" _she hissed.

"So it is him, then."

"Wha - I - " she stuttered.

Romeo smirked again, stood, and stalked away without saying another word.

Cassie didn't even bother trying to stop him. This is what she'd wanted, right? For someone to find out? Well now someone knew – well, actually, Romeo knew, which was a little different -and she was supposed to be able to just get over it and forget that any of this had ever happened.

Problem was, after having it happen, she now recognized that she did not, in fact, want it to happen again.

The next morning, they waited at the gates. Cassie had almost forgotten they were on strike, just watching for the strikebreakers.

"Is anyone else coming?" Davey asked.

"I got no clue."

"Well, you've seen Spot Conlon, right?" Race added. "What'd he say?"

"Sure, we seen him."

"Him and about twenty of his gang."

"And them Brooklyn boys is big," Les chimed in, prompting Davey to smile and tousle his brother's hair. _Please, Les, their leader's_ _barely got any_ _inches on you._

"And, I gotta say, Spot was very impressed, wasn't he?"

"I'd say."

"Alright, so...they're with us?" Race asked hopefully.

"Well, that depends how you look at it."

"What's that mean?" Cassie cut in.

"If you look and _see _Brooklyn, then they're with us."

Oh.

If they looked and saw Brooklyn, they might see Harlem, too, and probably all the other boroughs.

"They wanted proof that we weren't gonna fold at the first sign of trouble."

"Are we?" asked Finch.

"We are not, no! There's us, there's Harlem - "

"Not so fast, boss," Mush said, cutting Jack off.

"Yeah, Harlem is waiting to see what Brooklyn will do,"

"Uh, well, what about Queens?"

"Queens will be right here backin' us up!"

The newsies' cheers of elation were cut short when Specs added, "As soon as we get the nod from Brooklyn!"

"_Why _would you phrase it like that?"

"I got the same fisheye in Midtown."

Someone else opened their mouth to share, but the Delanceys stalked over with looks of pure evil on their faces. "Hey Oscar," Morris began wickedly, "I guess we got bum information about a strike happenin' today. Not like I'm complainin'. I know my _skull-bustin' _arm could use a day of rest." He and Oscar opened the gates, and Les was the first to walk out.

"Are we doing the right thing?"

"Sure, we are!" Davey exclaimed.

"Maybe we should put this off a few days," Race said, and as he walked away, many of the other newsies did, too.

"No, we can't just..." Davey trailed off as people continued to leave. He turned to Jack. "Tell them that if we put this off now, they'll never listen to us again!"

Cassie, not for the first time since the strike began, found herself agreeing with Davey. The strike was a risky idea, yes, but if it did end up succeeding, Pulitzer would never pick on them again. And if they showed no resolve this early on, he would continue. They had to go through with this.

"Hey, we can't put this off. Okay? Like it or not, now is when we take a stand."

"How 'bout we just don't show up for work? That'll send a message!"

"No, no, they'll just replace us! They need to see us stand our ground. Davey, you tell 'em."

"I don't know what to say," Davey protested quietly. He took a deep breath and started speaking.

* * *

Davey's makeshift motivational speech worked, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

At first, he seemed quiet and diffident, but as he gained listeners in the newsies, it seemed he gained confidence, too. Crutchie even made a strike sign (which the newsies had mixed opinions on – Mush personally thought it was pretty cool). No reinforcements had showed up yet, but after a little bit of talking about how they needed to stand their ground and seize the day, Jack joined in speaking.

Their combined efforts changed the minds of the few newsies that were still unconvinced, and soon, they were all in agreement: now _was _the time to seize the day.

So as they stood, proud and defiant, in front of the gates, Mush knew they'd be able to win this.

"The sun is shinin'," began Weasel. "The birds are singin' - it's a beautiful day to crack some heads, ain't it? Step right up and get your papers."

"Hey, are ya workin' or tresspassin'?" asked Morris.

"Yeah, what's your pleasure?"

There were a couple of scabs that tried to get through, but eventually even they were convinced (admittedly, because the newsies forced themselves upon them and not so much by the power of speech itself, save for one of the scabs, but Davey wouldn't let them fight and so how else would they get people to listen?) They stood in the square and preached their unanimous cry.

"One for all and all for one!"

They got their pictures taken for the Sun, and then proceeded to shred any newspaper they could get their hands on in a moment of joyousness and triumph.

A lot of things happened after that.

There was a fight.

Everyone had a different role, and they played them well. Mush helped Finch, Jack, Blink and some others with offense. The Delanceys had joined in, and Mush (as well as almost every other newsie) knew from experience that they weren't even _half _bad at fighting.

Race, Crutchie, Davey and other helped with defense. Even though the newsies outnumbered Weasel and his allies, they were only so strong.

Cassie and Romeo were helping the fallen newsies – trying to rally them to safety and making sure they weren't too beat up.

The situation seemed hopeless. The only thing keeping Mush from total despondency was the fact that they hadn't technically lost yet.

Then the cops arrived. Everyone paused and looked.

Maybe there was hope for them yet...

"It's about time you showed up!" Romeo cried. "They're slaughterin' us - " He was punched in the face.

"_Cheese it, it's the bulls!"_

Everybody ran. Mush bolted as fast as his legs could carry him and stumbled into the lodge with some other newsies hot on his tail. They got inside and looked around, each of them silently counting heads.

Crutchie, Cassie, and Jack were missing.

Many of them noticed around the same time, and their faces fell. It was so quiet; you could hear a pin drop.

"So, what now?" Elmer asked after a long silence. His question, once hopeful, now hung plaintively in the air.

That was when, Cassie walked in. She was covered in scratches and bruises, and she wore an unreadable expression on her face. Mush felt flooded with relief to see that she was okay, and he was sure that everyone else felt the same.

"Cassie! Thank _God_, we was worried about you! What were ya doin' out there?" he exclaimed.

"I soaked 'em."

"You...did what?"

"_I soaked them," _Cassie repeated, enunciating every word as if he didn't hear her the first time. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

The newsies all exchanged glances.

"Nothin', it's just kinda...weird is all."

"Why? You soak people all the time. Nothing weird about that."

"Exactly. _We _soak people all the time. _You _wouldn't soak a fly. Literally. You just shoo 'em out the window – you do realize you can just kill 'em, right?"

"Hey, what'd those flies ever do to you?"

"Exactly my point. You never hurt anyone if you can help it."

Everyone muttered in agreement.

"Maybe I couldn't help it," she growled darkly, her voice tremulous. "You're lucky everyone made it out alive."

"Cassie!"

"You wouldn't be reacting that way if..." she trailed off, a sudden pain in her eyes. "You better be glad you didn't see what happened to Crutchie."

Mush felt his stomach drop to his feet. "Why, what...what happened to Crutchie?"

"They kicked him down and stole his crutch and used it to beat him. And they dragged him, literally _dragged_ him, to the Refuge. Now, look at me." She stared him down. "Now, you look me in the eyes, Nicholas Meyers, and tell me that watching something like _that _happen, to Crutchie, of all people, doesn't make you want to hurt someone, too."

It was once again silent.

"That's what I thought," Cassie said frostily as she turned on her heel and walked away.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter started too happy for an ending like that :p**

**Hope you enjoyed! This is, of course, a huge turning point for the newsies because they've just suffered a major defeat so quickly after their first victory. Pretty discouraging! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, though (especially Romeo because I love him and I honestly don't write about/create content with him as much as I'd like to), and I hope you liked reading it just as much!**

**-mouse :)**


	7. In Which A Heartfelt Letter Is Written

Chapter Seven: In Which an Old Friend is (Sort of) Visited and a Heartfelt Letter is Written

Word Count: 2,002

_Manhattan, 1899_

_Newsies Crushed as Bulls Attack._

That was the headline they'd get after this. Oh, their mugs would be on the front cover of the paper, all right. But not grinning and triumphant like they'd been before, like they'd wanted. Bruised and bloodied and tired because of the bulls.

And Crutchie. What had happened to him? Cassie had tried to step in and help, but she'd ended up getting hurt almost as badly, and the Delanceys had made off with his best friend.

Where was he, Jack, in all this chaos? Watching from a distance. Frozen in place. Helpless.

It wasn't that he was scared. He _wasn't_ scared. Or maybe he was, but he'd been scared in the past. It was like Davey had said before – courage was when you _faced _your fear, not got rid of it. You can't just _get rid of_ fear, and as the leader of the newsboys, Jack _had _to be courageous, especially when others weren't. So, it wasn't fear that was paralyzing him.

The refuge.

It was that he'd been to the refuge before. Many of the newsies had, and none of them _ever _wanted to go back. That place was worse than a nightmare. It was _torture_. Self-preservation was important, sure, but every one of the newsies would give themselves up for the others in any other scenario. The refuge, though...

Jack sank down into his provisional bed on the roof and shook his head. No. This should be no different. Crutchie was tough, but the refuge could break even the toughest of people. No one should have to suffer like that. He closed his eyes and let the tears come, having long since abandoned any pretense of stoicism.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

_This wasn't how it was supposed to happen._

_Crutchie_ _might not make it._

His thoughts were all mixed up and jumbled and he was very confused and angry and exhausted. There were lots of things going on in his head right now.

When he needed to clear his mind, he left.

Left New York, left his frustrating, tiring, low-paying job, left his aches and pains, left his annoyances, the hardships of the street – he left it all behind.

He left for clean air and green grass and a big yellow moon that you couldn't find anywhere except Santa Fe. Santa Fe – or his dreams of it, at least – was his refuge. An _actual _refuge, a haven, not that torment that Crutchie had been dragged into.

Santa Fe. Clean, green, pretty, bright Santa Fe.

The Santa Fe that his Ma would always talk about, the Santa Fe with beautiful sunsets and skies and mountains.

The Santa Fe that was so, _so _much better than here.

Though, in all honesty, anywhere was better than here right now.

_Anywhere is better than here._

Dreams came true in Santa Fe. They really did. And it was going to take him a lot of savings and a lot of time and a lot of trust to be able to accomplish his dream of going.

Because he hated it here in New York. New York was fine if you had a big, strong door to lock it out. Jack did not have one of those. New York was overcrowded and loud, and he just wanted to be able to get a moment's peace.

Nowhere did it say that you had to be born and live and take your final breath in New York. Nowhere did it say this was where you had to stay, working and slaving away, only taking what you're given and where only the rich had opportunities.

Where nobodies like Jack had no futures.

No hope.

_Nothing._

Even at seventeen years of age, he was breaking his back to save someone else's. So why not move? Why not go somewhere you could stand? Somewhere you could breathe without being chased by bulls, by Snyder, by Weasel? Somewhere with no headlines or deadlines or anything in between?

Somewhere like Santa Fe.

New York did have the newsies. He loved the newsies. His brothers. But he could write to the newsies. He could write to them from Santa Fe, about Santa Fe. He could write to them from wherever he was that wasn't here.

_He didn't want to be here._

_He didn't know where he wanted to be._

_But it wasn't here._

He could pass his leadership down to Davey, who'd proven more than competent. Or Race, someone he'd known and trusted for years. Or Crutchie.

It still hurt to think about Crutchie. In the refuge. Alone.

Jack knew he was being selfish. Those boys (and girl...s? Katherine came to mind, but he was undecided on that) needed him. And he needed them. But he felt he'd earned the right to a little selfishness after today's events. The newsies were perfectly capable. He was sure they were fine.

He wanted to get away, to get a fresh start. He wanted space. Anyone could laugh in his face and he wouldn't care because he had Santa Fe.

He _needed _to have Santa Fe.

Santa Fe what his lifeline right now.

_He had _nothing _if not Santa Fe._

Looking up, finally opening his eyes, he realized that he didn't know how long he'd been on the roof. Eventually, though, his heart for the newsies won out and he climbed down, quiet as he could, and went inside.

As he'd assumed, everyone was sleeping, and the lodge was filled with the sound of gentle snoring. He counted silently. Crutchie's bunk was, of course, empty. Cassie's was as well, but knowing her, she'd probably decided to sleep in the library. Maybe he'd check in the morning. Content with what he saw, to some extent, and satisfied that everything seemed in order, he put his hat back on and went back outside into the cool night air.

* * *

The refuge, as one could imagine, was not overtly pleasant. Multiple boys in one bed (though, actually, that wasn't _all _that different from the lodging house), vermin, rats and other pests everywhere. It honestly didn't look like they'd made any effort to clean this place since...ever.

Worse still, Crutchie's leg hurt the worst it had in a long, _long _time. Most of him hurt at this point. Snyder and the Delanceys had soaked him pretty good. Or bad, depending on how you looked at it. He just hoped the others were okay.

He was trying his absolute hardest to remain his positive, sanguine self, but it was admittedly very difficult to do so in the face of such intractable pain. Fortunately, he'd found some paper, a pencil, a candle, and a matchstick, and was now sitting on the edge of his bunk, trying to write a letter to take his mind off things.

"Who should I write to?" he murmured, thinking aloud. He could write to Specs, who, to his knowledge, was the one who was always able to stop by the refuge and bring news back to everyone else. He could write to Jack, whom he was closest to in terms of friendship. He'd know Jack the longest; he could be most open about his feelings with him. Or he could write to the newsies in general – address every one of them and let them know he was doing fine. He could even write to Racetrack, who was Jack's second-in-command. Race could probably even show it to the other newsies, and they'd all know that he was alright.

In the end he decided to write his letter to Jack. He sat, staring into the darkness past his dim candle, lost for words to write. "Dear Jack," he began.

_Greetings from the refuge. _Crutchie was so glad he could read and write – he knew that some newsies couldn't and if they were in his situation, they'd have to wait a lot longer to get their feelings across.

_How are you? I'm ok. _He wrote. _Guess I didn't really help much during that fight, huh? Snyder really soaked me with my crutch._ He paused; his pencil poised above the page. _Oh yeah, Jack – this is Crutchie, by the way. _Of course, Jack knew who it was. But it was the best he could do.

_These here guards is_ _pretty mean to me. Actually, to_ _everyone. If they say "jump," boy, you jump, or you're _screwed. That probably didn't sound very reassuring. And it wasn't like Jack didn't already know that. On the bright side..._The food ain't_ _terrible, though. So far. That's because so far,_ _we haven't actually gotten any food..._

That definitely wasn't reassuring.

_Ha ha._

Did that make it sound any better? Probably not. He was going to have to start being honest – to himself and Jack. _You know, Jack, I'm really missing the rooftop right about now. _It was true. He was missing the rooftop, and Jack, and Race, and Blink, and Mush, and Sniper and Finch, and every single other newsie, even Davey and Les. They were his family, and the lodge was his home. Not this...what could you even call _this? _

_Sleeping right out there, in the open, up in your penthouse, where there's always that cool breeze. It's even there in July..._

He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining being on the rooftop with Jack with that breeze washing over him. It was a lovely imagination.

_Anyway, guess what? I got this secret escape plan that I made up a while ago. Here it is: I tie a sheet to the bed, throw the end out of the window, climb down, and make like an egg and beat it. _He wrote this all in a facetious manner, and he was sure Jack would be able to tell. Maybe he would laugh. Crutchie wanted to make Jack laugh.

_I might not exactly be able to go through with it tonight though. Just because I ain't_ _slept yet, and my leg still ain't_ _completely right. But hey! Pulitzer is going down. And then, Jack, well, I was thinking we might just go like you was saying the other day..._

He paused writing, suddenly feeling morose. Hadn't he also said that everybody wanted to come to New York, and only indulged in his imaginary Santa Fe scenario-thing with Jack to make his friend happy? All at once, it seemed like everyone wanting to come to New York was a trifling detail. All at once, he wasn't so sure he wanted to be there anymore either.

_To Santa Fe. Where it's clean and green and pretty, and there are no buildings blocking your view of the sunsets. And – _Crutchie smiled at the memory – _where the clean air will heal my leg and I'll be riding palominos every day._

"Once that train makes - "

He was cut off by a rather rude shushing noise.

He picked up his pencil that he had dropped onto his bunk, having been startled by the sound, and muttered curses under his breath as he hoped, prayed, wished for anything to get him out of here.

_Don't worry about me, Jack. I'll be fine. There is one favor I wanna_ _ask, though. On the rooftop once, you said that family looks out for each other, right? So, you tell all the fellas for me, from me, to protect one another, ok?_

That was all he needed to say, wasn't it? He looked back over the note, satisfied with his writing (and proud of his penmanship).

_The end._

_Your friend,_

No, that wasn't it. He crossed it out and started to write under it.

_Your _best _friend,_

That wasn't it, either. He scribbled out his writing and chewed absentmindedly on the end of the pencil. The right word was on the tip of his tongue. They were family, weren't they?

He smiled to himself as the word he was looking for presented itself.

_Your brother,_

_Crutchie._

"Alright, enough already!" whisper-shouted someone from the bunk below him.

Crutchie blew out his candle, still smiling softly.

* * *

**A/N: So I don't know **_**how I**_ **managed to write this entire chapter in the past two days, but I'm definitely not complaining. I** **was on a writing roll. I focused more on Jack and Crutchie** **in this chapter, which I really enjoyed writing. That's my take on what happened during these two songs, and I hope you liked it!**

**-mouse :)**


	8. In Which the Newsies Dance a Lot

Chapter Eight: In Which Katherine is Determined and the Newsies Dance a Lot

Word Count: 2,053

Manhattan, 1899

Katherine typed furiously at her typewriter. It had taken her multiple attempts to polish her draft up, but now she was typing it out. It was late at night and she should be sleeping, or at least at home, but it was imperative that this article be perfect. Otherwise, how else would it get to the front page? How else would the newsies get the recognition they so desperately needed? Hopefully, her angry editors wouldn't get angrier.

As she wrote, she thought about Jack. Jack "brave-but-not-entirely-fearless" Kelly, leading the newsboys into a (hopefully) victorious strike, one that would make all sorts of headlines and inspire all sorts of strikes to follow.

Changes needed to be made, and they were the ones changing things.

Katherine had seen the look on Jack's face when the bulls attacked. Fear, antipathy, and fury all rolled into one distressed expression. She'd watched the gaiety leave the newsies' eyes, only to be replaced with consternation. Even now, she felt bad. She should have done something. She should have reacted. She should have helped, or at least made an effort to.

She'd watched to the end. Watched as Jack clamped a hand over his mouth witnessing the sight below, watched as the girl newsie had, rather awkwardly, attempted to fight off the Delanceys, watched as Oscar and Morris, whom she'd frequently interacted with when they were all younger, beat a newsie – the sweet one with the nickel – with his own crutch.

She'd watched him wail and writhe in his affliction, and she hadn't been able to move.

She had no idea that the newsies could even be treated like that, and the impenitence on Weisel and Oscar and Morris and the bulls' faces disgusted her.

She hadn't done anything then, but that was behind her. So here she was, _doing something_. _Someone_ was bound to read this. And then they'd share it, and it'd gain enough traction until it got to her father. He'd know her views on this strike. She had confidence in her writing skills, and if her writing wasn't as great as she knew it was, the story alone was enough to demand attention.

As she pressed the final key of her article, took it out of the typewriter and read it over, she couldn't suppress the proud smile forming on her face. Jack, Romeo, Davey, Race (those were the only four she knew by name, but she decided she'd make a point of learning the rest of them tomorrow), and every single other newsie would live and breathe right on the page – the front page, with any luck.

She put the article on her editor's desk and slipped quietly out the door.

She'd never associated any sort of stigma with walking home alone. In fact, she quite enjoyed it. The night air was always cool and refreshing, and she found it was easier to collect her thoughts. Today, she thought again about the newsies which she'd just finished writing about.

Even in the face of adversity, they were so positive and resolute. In the short time that she'd known them, she'd seen how determined they were, how optimistic about the future. They seemed to have an unwavering belief that they'd win, and that Pulitzer would lower the prices – though, knowing him, it would take even more fighting than they'd already been doing.

But Katherine Plumber was determined, too. She was determined to win the fight right along with them.

* * *

Mush was starting to get worried.

Cassie hadn't returned since walking out, and she wasn't in the library. He was sure she probably just needed some space, but he couldn't imagine where she'd gone. He'd gone to sleep that night feeling sore and relatively conflicted. There was no point in trying to look for her, especially since the only place she'd ever gone aside from the lodge and Jacobi's was the library, but he also just wanted to be sure that she was okay.

The brawl at the square had really done a number on the newsies. They realized that even though this strike had only been going on for a short while, they were going to have many struggles along the way. And if they were all going to end up like this one had, they might have to start selling papers again, even sooner than they'd anticipated

Even Race's usual cheery, energetic wake-up call seemed a little lackluster that morning.

Mush rolled over and rubbed his eyes. It was very bright outside, which was, unfortunately, the exact opposite of his current mood. He just wanted to have everything go back to normal. He knew, however, that he had to stay strong for everyone else. He knew that Pulitzer would continue to bully them if they gave in now. On the bright side, his injuries already felt a little better. He had a bruise on his right cheek and a relatively deep wound near his left shoulder; fortunately, Davey and Race had been able to patch everyone up with an improvised first aid kit and a little bit of medical knowledge, and even now he could recognize that his wounds were healing.

After a few minutes, he got out of bed and got dressed, before trudging down with the rest of the newsies to Jacobi's where they sat, somewhat disheartened, to continue another strike day.

Jacobi gave them water at least; Mush was grateful for that. He was, though, tired, and didn't feel like hearing his bad (but normally amusing) joke-like things.

"Drink up, boys," the older man said, looking around at their fatigued faces. "And don't never say I don't give you nothin'." he paused. "And before you say water is nothin', just ask a fish..._in the desert_."

He walked away and Finch sat up with a quiet groan. "Why do old people talk?"

"To prove they's still alive," said Race dryly.

Mush shrugged; that was indeed a fair point. He was sort of glad to see that Race wasn't too disheartened for his trademark dry wit.

He lifted his head from the table lackadaisically at the sound of the bell on Jacobi's door jingling, signaling that it was open. In walked Katherine Plumber, as Jack said she was named, and shortly behind her followed Cassie.

Cassie looked weary, but determined, though Katherine was bright and chipper. She held a copy of the morning's magazine in her hand.

"Good morning, gentlemen!" she exclaimed. "And lady," she added, nodding at Cassie, who'd made her way next to Mush. "Gee, would you get a load of these glum mugs? If I didn't know any better, I'd wager that these _couldn't_ be the very newsies that made _front page_ of the New York Sun! Could they?"

_That_ woke people up.

There were excited shouts of "Front page?" and "Let me see!"

"Wouldja lookit, that's me!" yelled Race, snatching the paper.

"Front page and you ain't even dead!"

"Where's me? Where's me?"

"Wait 'til my old man gets a load of this!" Buttons gasped. _"I won't be last in line for the tub tonight!"_

Mush grinned, seeing that it was indeed their mugs on the front page of the paper. It felt almost surreal.

"You got us in the papes?" Davey asked.

Katherine shrugged. "You got yourselves in the papes."

"'Newsies Stop the World,'" Mush read aloud. "Now there's a headline even Elmer could sell!"

"Hey, so, what else ya got?"

"Well, mine's the only story that ran. Pulitzer declared a blackout on strike news, so even I'm shut down now. Hey...I heard they took Crutchie to the refuge. Did they get Jack, too?"

"They Delanceys are spreadin' a story that he took it on the lam first sight of the cops," Albert said.

"Jack don't run from no fight!" Les shouted, running over and pushing Albert (though the older newsie didn't move much).

"Take it down, Shortstop. I'm just reportin' the news." _Shortstop_. Now _there_ was a nickname that would stick.

"For jumpin' Jack's sake, can we stow the seriosity long enough to just drink in the moment? I'm famous!"

"We're famous," corrected Romeo.

"Ain't that what I said?"

"Yeah, so what?" asked Henry.

"Are you even hearin' me? We's _famous_!"

"What of it?"

"Well, are ya stupid or what? When you is famous, the world is your erster!"

"Your...what?" asked Cassie as the other newsies murmured in confused agreement with her.

"Your erster," repeated Race.

Everyone looked around; there seemed to be no one who understood what Race was talking about.

"_Your ers-ter,_" he said again, enunciating every syllable. After looking around at their still-confused faces, he finally said, "Ya know, your fancy clam with the pearl inside!"

"Oyster!" they all corrected, half of them laughing and the other half exasperated.

"Alright, alright!" shouted Henry. "How much does bein' famous pay?"

"Oh, ya don't need no money when you'se famous! They gives ya whatever ya want – gratis!"

"Such as?"

"I for one, want a pair of new shoes with matchin' laces," said Race, clutching the paper.

"New shoes? Are ya kiddin' me?" asked Romeo, snatching it. "You get whatever ya want for free and you choose _new shoes_?"

"With matchin' laces. But fine. What do you want?"

"My own permanent box at the Sheepshead."

"That _is_ a good wish. I want that too," said Race.

"Nuh-uh! You can't steal my wish!"

Mush laughed as they chased each other around and Henry picked up the newspaper. "Honestly, I'd take a sandwich right about now. Pastrami and a sour pickle on rye..."

"A sandwich? Shoes? A spot at the Sheepshead? You'se all thinkin' too small! How 'bout your face permanent on a wooden nickel for a wish?"

"Look at us!" cried Racetrack, taking the paper back. "I'm the king of New York! All of the sudden, I'm respectable, starin' right at ya, lousy with stature."

They danced about, taking turns holding the newspaper and sharing what they'd get if they really did get whatever they wanted - "gratis."

Mush wanted a barbershop haircut that cost a quarter, Les wanted his own bed (and an indoor toilet), Cassie, unsurprisingly, wanted her own personal library, and Davey wanted "a regular beat for the star reporter!" Then Katherine joined in the merriment, and they all laughed and jumped until they were too tired to do so any longer (which took a while, because, being newsies, they typically had lots of energy, and even in their tiredness of the strike, this was too good _not_ to celebrate).

When they were done, Katherine asked if she could see the lodge, and Les wanted to come, too. The newsies happily obliged, but they agreed to rest a few more moments in Jacobi's before heading out. Mush turned to Cassie. "So, _were_ you at the library last night?"

"No," she said laconically, stretching.

"Where were ya then? I was kinda startin' to get worried."

Cassie's cheeks colored and she looked sown. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I was actually staying with an old friend for the night. I was just kind of wandering and I ended up at her place."

"Oh."

They sat in silence for a moment. "So, um," began Cassie, "about that newsie I mentioned? The one that I have a crush on?"

"Ya gonna finally tell me who he is?"

She blushed again and averted her gaze. "Actually, y - " she cut herself off, looking pensive. She seemed to be debating whether or not to tell him. "You got any more guesses for me?" she finished, trying for a smile.

"No, I'se guessed everyone. And Romeo _claims_ he knows, but he refuses to tell me!"

Now Cassie's smile grew. "Well, that's good."

"So he _does_ know?"

"Maybe," she said with a small smile, and the way she said it made him somehow aware that it was all he'd get out of her.

* * *

**A/N: Ok, so kind of a weird ending, but I needed a stopping point. I think next chapter's going to be a really fun one. That's pretty much all I have to say, so hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you in the next one!**

**-mouse :)**


	9. In Which Things Are Overthought

Chapter Nine: In Which Cassie Overthinks Things and Mush Follows Suit

Word Count: 2,041

_Manhattan, 1899_

After her conversation with Mush, Cassie got off the chair and walked over to Davey, who was finishing up a conversation with Katherine.

"Uh, hey, Dave."

"Hi," he said, turning around; "um, Cassie, right?"

She nodded. "Okay, here's the thing. When you first became a newsie, I told Mush that I didn't know how long you'd last. And then two days later, there you were, co-leading a strike! On your second day as a newsie. So, I'm apologizing, I guess. For underestimating you. You're not half bad."

Davey smiled. "Nothing to really apologize for. I know that to you guys, who've been newsies for years, it must have seemed a little weird. But thank you."

"Yeah, a little," Cassie said chuckling lightly. "But if there's one thing I've learned from being the avid reader that I am, it's never to judge a book by its cover. Or even its first few pages."

The taller newsie nodded and then glanced behind him at Katherine and Les conversing animatedly. "Hey, Katherine and I were thinking of going to look for Jack soon. Do you wanna come?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm needed elsewhere." She gestured behind her at the newsies. "'Sides," she added, "he's probably off in his own Santa Fe, and when he gets that way, he is not to be disturbed. Trust me."

"Wait, you mean he's run off before?"

Cassie shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." She leaned in now, as if sharing some grand secret. "But never this long. And never when we need him most." She nodded towards the newsies again. "These punks need a leader and – no offense – though you and Racer are doing a great job in his stead, you aren't...Jack. Please, find him for us. I mean, I have no doubt you will, but..."

Davey nodded. "I understand. Oh, and you mentioned Santa Fe?"

Right, Davey wouldn't know that. She almost face-palmed for assuming he would understand that weird analogy. "Yeah, Santa Fe. Jack has been dreaming about Santa Fe, New Mexico for as long as any of us can remember. Crutchie is, like, Jack's oldest friend, and even he claims Jack's always fantasized about that place. He'll probably head there when he scrapes up the funds, but I don't think he's quite there yet."

He met her eyes. "I promise, I'll find him and bring him back for you guys. Hopefully in one piece. You're right – Jack is a great leader, and he leads in a way that Race and I just...don't. I don't know quite how we're going to do this..."

"'Skill to do comes of doing.'"

"Ralph Waldo Emerson," replied Davey, smiling.

"You'll find him. I know you will." Cassie grinned. "And if he tries to run on us again, you have our full permission to soak him." She turned and went to rejoin Mush.

As the large group made their way out of Jacobi's, thanking him by the door for the water, they passed Newsies Square, where some detritus of the fight (and newspaper ripping) still remained.

"Do you think the strike will settle soon?" Asked Mush suddenly.

Cassie, unsure what had brought on this random lack of confidence in the strike, nodded quickly. "Of course. Pulitzer will roll back prices any moment now."

Mush looked relatively unconvinced, which was, quite frankly, exactly how she felt. Maybe she'd said it more to convince herself than him. In truth, she was worried too. If Pulitzer was smart enough to know what to raise the price to so he could get more profit, surely, he was smart enough to notice that his sales were dropping and would continue to do so until he rolled back prices? So, why hadn't he? Did he really think that they were so weak that they'd give up striking just that quickly? Or was it just that in his avarice he hadn't even paid attention and assumed that they'd comply?

Whatever the case was, Cassie didn't like it. Too many unanswered questions. But try as she might, she couldn't get her mind off her worries. Pulitzer, at this point, was just making her upset.

"What's wrong?" asked Mush from beside her as they walked.

"What gives you the impression that something's wrong?"

"You're getting' that look that you get when you'se overthinkin' stuff."

"You called it cute once," she recalled.

"And I stand by that claim – overthinkin' stuff is not good because it makes everyone else overthink too. But it _is_ adorable."

Cassie tried (and, alas, failed) to ignore the blush suffusing through her cheeks. Back when he'd first made the remark, she'd thought it tongue-in-cheek, but now...? No, she thought, pushing the notion from her head. Friends called each other cute all the time, and while Mush was certainly romantic and even mushy (hence, the nickname), he wasn't much of a flirt. That was Romeo's arena. Mush was a nice guy. He probably thought everyone was adorable. Unless he didn't.

Fantastic. More things to overthink.

"Well, I'm alright. Nothing is wrong. No need to worry about me."

"Okay, definitely not. What's goin' on?"

She sighed. She should have known she wouldn't get away with lying to Mush. Or lying, for that matter. "Just...I do have faith that the strike will succeed, but what if it doesn't? How long can we go? And how long will it take for him to lower the price, _if_ he does? It doesn't make sense that he's still holding out. I mean, he has to at least be aware of the strike, right? In his _dumb_ avarice, I would have at least thought we'd have reached a compromise now...maybe not, considering the trolley workers are still on strike. But still! Plus, we - "

"Cassie," Mush said gently, cutting her off. "Slow down and take a deep breath."

She inhaled deeply.

"Good. Now breathe out and tell me what's worryin' ya."

She exhaled. "What if Pulitzer doesn't roll back prices? We can't strike forever."

"You're right, but we'll figure somethin' out. We always do. We'll come up with a compromise that everyone can live with and go back to work. We'll be makin' money again in no time." He paused. "Was it me askin' that made ya nervous?"

"...A little."

"Aw, sorry, Cassie. The question just sorta popped into my head, and I didn't even realize I was askin' it until I'd asked it." He shrugged.

That sounded like what she'd done – almost done – earlier. What had she been thinking, about to tell him? Fortunately, she'd realized what she'd been doing and stopped herself. It was so frustrating, this..._infatuation_ with Mush.

She wished she could just tell him and have it all be over and have everything go back to normal.

That wasn't going to happen though, at least not now, so she focused instead on walking back to the lodge with everyone else, with one new, singular question turning itself over in her head:

_Had Mush really just called her 'adorable'?_

* * *

Mush looked at Cassie as the group got closer to the lodge. She looked like she'd resumed her overthinking of things, but he didn't say anything else. He didn't want to worry her again. In truth, he'd just seen the remains of torn newspapers and remembered how quickly it'd gone downhill.

He looked up ahead and say that Romeo was leading Davey, Katherine, and Les in front of the other newsies. He was eagerly chatting up Katherine, who looked genuinely interested in whatever he was saying. Les was talking to one of the younger newsies, nicknamed Gears, and Davey was conversing with Race (which was somewhat surprising to Mush; it seemed like, from what he'd seen, their personalities would clash, but it wasn't as if he was complaining).

It was when they arrived at the lodge that they realized - they didn't know what they were planning on doing once they got there. Actually, they never did, but Katherine, Davey, and Les had never been there either, and they always figured something out. In the end, Katherine went around asking the newsies various questions about themselves, the lodge, their daily routine, and each other. She said she wanted to write another article anyway, even if it never got published. It was a nice thing to hear – at least _one_ person was behind them and their cause.

Maybe more, actually. Obviously, they hadn't delivered papers that morning, so he didn't know who'd gotten them, but someone had to have gotten ahold of one. Someone had to have seen that headline with their beaming faces on the front page. Hopefully, more people were with them than not.

Eventually, after getting a grand tour of the Newsboys Lodging House - which really just involved Race pointing at things (and people) and saying their names really loudly - Katherine, Davey, and Les left, and the newsies were left to their own devices.

It was oddly quiet. There were a couple of short conversations here and there, but for the most part, everyone was just doing things. Lots of the newsies appeared to be thinking; Buttons was sewing something, and Cassie looked like she was drawing in the back of one of her books. It was, without a doubt, a stark contrast to the usual activity of the lodge, but a peaceful one as well. It was nice, being able to hear his own thoughts for once, but the lack of chatter had a rather somber air to it as well.

They'd been striking for almost a week now, and Pulitzer still hadn't even made an effort to talk with them or compromise, like Cassie had pointed out. Was his solution really just to shut down strike news completely in the hopes that no one else would hear about it? It didn't make much sense, but whatever Pulitzer felt he had to do...

The main goal of raising the prices was to make more money. Not only was he not making money, he was losing the money he already had. Mush would have thought that someone like Pulitzer would have realized that quickly. He had no doubt that the newspaper mogul had, but he also hadn't acted on it, which was what was confusing. Being a newsie could be tiring, but Mush had no idea that striking could be so exhausting, too. When the idea had first been suggested, his first thought was that they could end up like the trolley workers, which he didn't want to happen. That was practically his only worry, though, and so when Jack quickly dismissed it by saying that the cops wouldn't care about of bunch of kids (which was false, as they'd learned), he'd been put to ease.

And then there was the matter of the injuries they'd sustained fighting. Thankfully, everyone's were healing, and it could have been much worse – at least no one else was in the refuge – but some people were definitely more beat up than others and it would take time for their wounds to heal.

He tried not to think of Crutchie in the refuge, which of course, just made the thought more prominent. He bet that if they went back to selling soon which, honestly, they might have to, Oscar and Morris would lord it over their heads as if it were some great honor to abuse and seize someone.

But now Mush was overthinking stuff, which he didn't want to do – Cassie did enough of that for the both of them.

He looked up just in time to see Specs walking over with a note in his hand. "Crutchie wrote something for Jack, and I actually wasn't gonna read it, but then I did, and he says to tell us to look out for each other. I'se told pretty much everyone else and...well, I'se glad he's okay, ain't you?"

"Of course! Do ya know when he wrote it?"

Specs shrugged. "Obviously, not too long ago. Probably at night and not this morning, which is when I went – just now."

Mush sighed. "Poor Crutchie. He's pretty strong. I mean, most of us have been to that place before, but I don't think he has, in all his years of bein' a newsie. It's gotta be tough."

Specs nodded. "But he wouldn't want us to sit here mopin' about it, would he? We've gotta win this strike – if not for us, for him."

Mush smiled slightly. "For Crutchie."

* * *

**A/N: Hello! I hope you're having a great day and you enjoyed this chapter of By Words the Mind is Winged. It was really amusing to write, especially that little scene with Cassie and Mush. I'd love if you could review and tell me what you liked or want to see!**

** -mouse :)**


	10. In Which Davey Walks Away

Chapter Ten: In Which Davey Walks Away and Lots of Other Kids Do, Too

Word Count: 1,447

_Manhattan, 1899_

Mush didn't want to be where he presently was. And that happened to be in the distribution center in the early morning, in the line to buy papers again.

The Delanceys, as he'd expected, were having a lot of fun with this. They taunted the newsies about how they'd "run from the fight" and apparently didn't have enough resilience to continue the strike after that. It was frustrating, sure, but the newsies knew better. If they gave Oscar or Morris or even Weasel the satisfaction of a reaction, they'd never hear the end of it.

"Aw, why so serious? It's all in good fun," Oscar teased. "I'm sure Crutchie would be laughin' right now, were he with us."

"Don't," Cassie finally said in a warning tone as the line moved up.

"Or what? You'll fight us?" Oscar acted like he was going to lunge at her, and she flinched slightly. Only slightly, but it was enough to make Oscar laugh malevolently.

"Don't," she repeated, louder this time.

"What's wrong, Girlie? Still upset about the last one?"

"Yeah, I don't think that worked out too well for her," Morris chimed in. "I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but I remember that resultin' in you on the ground," he said pointing to Cassie, "and the crip in the refuge."

"Stop it," said Romeo angrily.

"Hey, friends are supposed to protect each other, right? We were just doin' our jobs. Not our fault Girlie here couldn't do hers."

Cassie glared, but didn't say anything as she purchased her papers and walked quickly off. Mush felt horrible – he wished they'd stuck with the strike or even not gone on strike at all. Whatever fights or conflicts they'd have to endure would be better than watching his friends get bullied by the Delanceys – more than they normally were, that is. But he noticed they faltered. Their faces wore smug sneers, but their eyes were nervous and darted about. They had some sort of fear of the newsies – the fight, or the resolve, was worrying them. Mush almost smiled at the thought.

_Almost._

Davey, who was at the front, seemed to notice this too, because he hesitated to put down his coins. And then: "Actually, no. Never mind." And with his head held high, he walked away. Oscar and Morris looked mildly taken aback, but their shock quickly escalated when Race followed.

And then Romeo.

And then JoJo and Finch and Buttons and Blink and Mush didn't even know who else because he found himself walking away with them.

He didn't once look back.

They marched out of the distribution center, confident and assured. They went into Jacobi's, still looking proud. And they felt that way, too:

The strike was back on.

It had felt weird, being in that line. He'd been doing it for years, but after not doing it for a week it was suddenly so strange. The setting was all familiar to him. The newsies might have been what made it seem so different.

They looked sullen, and they were quiet and still. Very different than normal. Maybe that was why the situation seemed so weird. The newsies were almost never like that.

But now, some of them, many of them, were actually smiling. It was wonderful. After a while, the other newsies, the ones that hadn't walked out at first, had joined them (excluding Cassie; Mush didn't know where she was).

"Alright so, what're we doin' now?" Blink asked, sitting next to him.

He shrugged. "I dunno, whatever we did before we started almost sellin' again."

"Sittin' around, talkin' bein' bored out of our minds?"

"Pretty much."

Blink sighed and looked around. "Hey, where's your girlfriend?"

"What?"

"Where's Cassie?"

"That ain't what ya said."

"Well, that's what I meant, and ya didn't answer my question."

Mush rolled his eyes. "I don't know. Probably still sellin' papes or somethin'."

"Well, she couldn't have gone that far from when she left to when we started strikin' again."

"I dunno, she was walkin' pretty fast..."

"Mush. You'se her best friend - "

"And you aren't?"

" - you'se been her best friend longer than any of us have, so stop makin' dumb excuses and go look for her like the lovin' boyfriend you is."

Mush sighed. Blink had a point. "We ain't datin'."

"Are ya _sure_?"

"Why would you even think that?"

"Have you not noticed? I mean, I'se pretty sure no one's said anything 'cause we thought she was obvious enough in her own right."

"What are you _talkin'_ about?"

Blink looked at him incredulously. "Honestly!" was all he said before he walked away.

He was right, though. Mush looked over and saw Davey talking to Katherine (who definitely hadn't been there a moment earlier), and then they said their goodbyes to everyone else and headed off, probably to find Jack. Mush, on the other hand, left to find Cassie in the place he figured she would be, if she wasn't actually selling: the library.

* * *

"Cassie? You in here?"

Cassie didn't answer.

"Cassie?"

She still stayed silent.

"Cassie." Suddenly, Mush was in front of her. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Have you been in here all day? Since you left the line this mornin'?"

"Yeah." She sat down. Mush sat down next to her.

"What've you been doin' this whole time?"

"Reading. I don't know," she said.

"Hey...ya know that what the Delanceys said this mornin' ain't true, right?"

"Of course, I do," she said quickly, and it came off much colder than she'd meant it to. "Of course," she repeated, gentler.

"Okay. I just wanted to make sure." He smiled softly at her. "So. You really just read all day?"

"'The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.' Henry Tilney. Or Jane Austen, depending on how you look at it."

"I feel called out."

Cassie laughed. "You better. Reading is fun."

"I bet it is," said Mush, laughing too. "Oh! I forgot to tell you – the strike is back on."

"It is? That was fast."

"It was, wasn't it?" he remarked. "The rest of the boys is at Jacobi's, and Davey went lookin' for Jack."

"Good. When they find him, I'm gonna have a serious conversation with Mr. Kelly."

"I think we all will. Well, do ya wanna come back to Jacobi's? They's expectin' ya – Blink was actually the one who convinced me to come look for ya."

She nodded. What does that mean?

"Oh, and he thinks we's datin'!" Mush added, laughing. "Can you believe that?"

Cassie laughed nervously.

"No, of course not, that's kinda weird," she said.

"That's what I said!" He stood and held out his hand. "Well, we should be headin' back now."

"Okay, but can we stop at the lodge first?"

"Sure...?"

Mush waited outside while Cassie went in and got a piece of paper, a pencil, and a book. So, she couldn't _tell_ him, but that didn't in any way hinder her propensity towards using language to express herself as opposed to...whatever else people expressed themselves with. If she couldn't _say_ the words, why not_ write_ them?

When Mush saw the book in her hands, he smiled. "Really, Cassie? We were just in a library."

"I know, I know," she said, smiling too. "But this is _my_ book, so it's different."

"Whatever you say." They walked together to Jacobi's, not talking much because Cassie was thinking about what she was going to write.

When they got inside, Blink cheered, and some other newsies joined in. Cassie grinned.

"We was worried about you," he said coming up to her. It was a nice thing to hear – if the Delanceys didn't care about her, at least her brothers did.

She sat down after getting a water and began writing her letter. When she finished, she read over it and stood up to give it to Mush, before the reality of what she was doing set in. Suddenly, every word looked off, and Mush seemed so far away, and if what he said at the library was any indication, he might not feel the same way. She decided she should just give it to him and_ leave_; he could confront her some other time. She folded up the note and walked over.

"Here." Cassie handed it to him, sure her face was as red as Albert's hair (if not redder) and walked out of the deli without another word.

* * *

**A/N: Mush's oblivion is one of my favorite things in this story to write, lol**

**This was a pretty short chapter, but I did enjoy writing it; I hope you liked reading it as well. Cassie's finally gathered up the courage to tell – or rather, write – Mush about how she feels, which was also fun to write. I'd love if you could review!**

**-mouse :)**


	11. In Which Jack Is Convinced

Chapter Eleven: In Which Mush Reads a Certain Letter and Jack Is Convinced

Word count: 2,638

As Cassie left, everyone (excluding Mush, of course) shared knowing glances with each other. Then they all looked at him. "What?" he asked. "What're you all lookin' at me like that for?"

"Y'know," Blink began slowly, "for one of _two_ newsies named for their romantic tendencies, I wouldn't have thunk you'd be as oblivious as you is."

"What do you mean? Oblivious about what?"

"Allow me to explain," Romeo chimed in, sauntering over and motioning for Blink to get up so he could sit down in his place. "Cassie likes you," he said simply.

"Well, I'd hope so, we's best friends, ain't we?" He was confused.

Romeo chuckled lightly and shook his head as if _Mush_ was a naïve child who didn't know how things worked. "No, no, no. Cassie _likes_ you. Romantically. As in, you'se that mystery crush ya keep askin' about."

"She likes..._me_?"

"Well, duh! I mean, all the signs is there."

Mush felt himself blushing as he looked around at the newsies, who were all nodding or agreeing. That _would_ explain why she'd been acting so strange lately...actually, that would explain a lot. But still. "I'se sure that ain't what this..." he trailed off as he opened the note Cassie had given him.

_"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest."_

_-William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing_

_Dearest Mush,_

_How do I put this? You are the best things that's ever happened to me. You are really kind, and cute, and you always manage to make me laugh. I'm sorry if it seemed like I was being weird, but it's only because I really, really like you, and I've never liked anyone this way before (except fictional characters, of course)._

_I've only known you for a few years, and not much longer than anyone else has. I know you've had lots of interests in the past, none of which, I'm sure, have been me, and if there are any more in the future, I encourage you to pursue them. I know you're the kind of person that would feel bad if I still had a crush on you but you were into someone else, but if there's anything I don't want to do, it's keep you from doing what you want to do._

_I really appreciate our friendship, and I'll be okay if you don't feel the same, but it was killing me to not be able to tell you, so...here I am, telling you. Um._

_Je t'aime,_

_Cassie_

Mush looked up, sure his face was bright red now. All he could manage to get out was, "There's, uh, French, I think."

Romeo took it and read it. After a moment, he laughed. "Oh, that's great!" He exclaimed.

"W-what does it mean?"

"No way. I ain't translatin' - you gotta ask her yourself!"

Romeo grinned and walked away with no further explanation. _Real helpful._

Mush wasn't sure when he started walking to the door, but the next thing he knew, he was outside, looking for Cassie. "Cassie!" he was suddenly shouting as he ran down the street and towards the lodge.

* * *

If he couldn't go to Santa Fe, he could at least try to paint it. Pinks and oranges and blues and reds, sunsets and mountaintops and the strokes of the paintbrush that all but calmed him down. Every moment he thought he was okay, every moment he thought he was cool and collected, thoughts of Crutchie and the refuge and his letter came swarming back.

_Dear Jack_, he'd written._ How are you? I'm ok._ Jack had the whole letter memorized by now. He'd only gotten it a day or two ago, but he'd read it and reread it and reread it again and now he knew it by heart. He was glad that, at least at the time of the letter being written, Crutchie was fine. Now though...who knew? When Jack had gone up to see him, his best friend hadn't even been able to come to window. Jack had tried to be like Crutchie and see the positive in the situation, but the best he could come up with was that at least Crutchie wasn't dead. Yet.

Then, as he was walking (more like sneaking) back to Irving Hall, he saw the other newsboys in line to buy papers. Thankfully, none of them had noticed him, but he couldn't believe the strike was off. It definitely made him angry – after all they'd endured! - but more than that, it saddened him. How long had it been? He'd been more or less camping out at Irving Hall, ever since Crutchie got taken away. He'd assumed that they'd been on strike the whole time, and after all, Specs had managed to deliver Crutchie's letter, but now that he thought about it, they could have stopped trying at the same time he had. And though he'd have no other way of finding out, he sure wasn't going to ask.

He painted some more. This painting was coming together well, he decided. His fantasies of Santa Fe were much better, and he figured he wouldn't be able to do them that much justice, but this was close enough.

"This is lookin' pretty good, Jack," said Medda's familiar voice as she rounded the corner to fully admire the painting.

"Thanks," he muttered as he kept on.

"Here's everything I owe you for the first backdrop, plus this one," she continued, handing him an envelope – with money in it, no doubt. He hesitated to take it. "And a little somethin' extra on accounta because I'm gonna miss you so."

"Medda, I - "

"Jack," she insisted.

He sighed and obliged her. "You're a gem."

She smiled wistfully. "Just tell me you're goin' somewhere, and not runnin' away."

"Does it matter?" _Not like anyone would care anyway. They probably weren't even looking for him._

Which Jack knew wasn't true. Someone was probably wondering where he was...right?

"When you're goin' somewhere, if it turns out not to be the right place, you can always go somewhere else. When you're runnin' away, nowhere is ever the right place." Medda looked him in the eyes, hers warm and comforting, his probably colder than he wanted them to be.

He had no idea as to whether or not he was running away. He had a set destination in mind, so wasn't that going somewhere? He knew one thing though: Medda was right.

As he continued to contemplate whether he was actually going somewhere, he heard a familiar voice that sent a pang of guilt through him.

"How about lettin' a pal know you're alive?" Davey said. "Where'd ya go? We couldn't find ya!"

So they_ had_ been looking. And he suddenly felt bad that he'd left them on such short notice.

"I'll leave you with your friend," Medda said rather unhelpfully. She walked off.

"Didja ever think I didn't wanna _be_ found?"

Jack suspected his friend hadn't quite anticipated a response like that, but if it surprised him, he showed no signs. "That a real place? That Santa Fe?"

_Who told him about that?_ Jack didn't respond.

"Hey, we are front page news above the fold. Oh, yes – above. The fold." Davey grinned excitedly.

"Good for you."

His friend's thrilled smile didn't falter. "I mean, everyone's dyin' to meet ya! Mr. Famous Jack Kelly. Even Spot Conlon sent over someone just to say that next event, we can count on Brooklyn. Guess we 'got what it takes to win' after all."

"We got stomped into the ground."

"Well, yes, _this_ time, but we took round one. With papers, with press like this, our fight is_ far_ from over."

"Every newsie who could walk," began Jack with an anger he rarely felt anymore, "was out there sellin' papes this mornin' like the _strike_ never happened." He emphasized the word strike – that word that he'd quickly grown to detest over the last few days. He thought again of Crutchie in the refuge.

"And I was right out there with them."

The admission sent another wave of unreasonable vexation through Jack.

"If I don't sell papes, my folks don't eat - "

"Save your breath, I get it: It's hopeless."

"But then I saw this-this _look_ on Weasel's face. He was actually nervous! And I realized this is _not_ over. Far from it, in fact. We got 'em worried." He met Jack's eyes. "Really worried. And I walked away. Lots of other kids did too, and that is what you call a beginning." Davey looked like he wanted to say more, but then someone else walked in. Or two other people, he saw when he looked up.

"There he is, just like I said!"

In all honesty, Les' small, childish voice was welcome and refreshing. Jack didn't know why, but he was relieved to hear it. Still though, he appreciated his solitude.

"Where's a fella gotta go to get away from you people?"

"There's no escapin' us, pal. We're inevitable."

Jack had to turn to hide his small smile. He was still in a lousy mood, but it was almost funny – the newsies were definitely rubbing off on him, but only Davey Jacobs would use a word like_ inevitable_ in an everyday sentence.

"So what's the story?" asked Les, racing down to join his brother. "Will Medda let us have the theater?"

"Pipe down, I haven't asked yet."

"Well, what's the holdup? I need to let my girl know we've got a date!"

"Your _girl_?"

"You heard me! I've been swattin' skirts away all mornin'! Fame is one intoxicatin' potion, and this here girl Sally? She's a plum."

As Davey started whispering to his brother, Jack saw Katherine. She looked concerned. He hated that.

"Word is, you wrote a _great_ story."

"Hey, you look terrible."

Jack ignored her. Les pointed to the painting. "Hey Jack, where's that supposed to be?"

"It's Santa Fe," said Davey, like it was obvious.

Katherine groaned. "I gotta tell you, this 'go west, young man' rountine is getting tired. Even Horace Greely moved back to New York.

"Yes, he did," agreed Les. "And then he died."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Aren't reporters supposed to be, uh, non-partisan?"

"Ask a reporter," she replied, with a note of annoyance in her voice. "Pulitzer's had me blacklisted from every news desk in town."

"Can we table the palaver and get back to business? Can we use the theater or not?"

"It's what I've been tryin' to tell ya!" Davey said, turning back to Jack. "We wanna hold a rally – a citywide meeting where every newsie gets a say. And a vote. And," he added, looking particularly pleased with himself, "we do it after working hours so no one loses a day's pay. Smart, huh?"

"Yeah, smart enough to get you committed to a padded room."

"The guy who paints places he's never seen is calling_ us_ crazy?" Katherine's voice was calm and level, though it also sounded somewhat strained, like she was trying to keep it from becoming strident.

"You wanna see a place I'se seen, huh?" he asked, making no effort to hide the frustration in his tone. He turned around the canvas he was presently working on to show something he'd painted earlier. It was a cartoonish depiction of the newsies being, quite literally, crushed underfoot. "Newsies Square," he said, as if it needed any explanation, "thanks to my big mouth. Filled to overflowing with failure. Kids hurt, other arrested."

"Lighten up, no one died," said Davey. Jack knew his friend probably meant that in the best way possible, but at this he finally gave up any pretense of calm.

"Oh! Oh, is that what you're aimin' for?" He paused. "Go on, call me a coward. Call me a quitter. Ain't no _way _I am puttin' them kids back in danger."

"We're doin' something that's never been done before! How can that _not _be dangerous?"

"Specs brung me a letter from Crutchie. In the Refuge. I tried to see him. Went up the fire escape. They busted 'im up so bad, he couldn't even come to the window. Are you willin' to shoulder that for, what, half a penny a pape?"

"_It's not about pennies, Jack_!" retorted Davey fiercely. "You said it yourself – my family wouldn't be in the mess we're in if my father had a union. This is a fight we have to win!"

"If I wanted a sermon, I'd show up for church." And honestly, he'd rather be there right now.

"Tell me how quitting does Crutchie any good." He opened his mouth and admittedly couldn't think of anything to say. "Exactly. So here's what happens _when_ we win."

"When?"

"We're winning already."

"Sure."

"And the first thing we do _when_ we win is tell them to let Crutchie go, or else."

"Or else what?"

Davey ignored him and started talking again.

"Dave, _what?_ Do ya not remember that whole fight that brought us here? We got our teeth kicked in. They win!"

"The battle maybe, but not the war."

Jack rolled his eyes.

"Consider it. Like, actually think about it. We've got them surrounded. We've got them outnumbered. We'll do whatever it takes."

"Okay, but ya know what? Guys like Joe is...they's like rattlesnakes."

Davey faltered for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers. "You, Jack, are exactly right."

_I am?_

"Rattlesnakes are called rattlesnakes because, you know, they rattle. But do you know why?"

"No, why?" Jack didn't really care to know, but he'd asked before he realized he'd been asking.

"Because they're scared."

"Oh, right."

"Seriously! You can look it up if you want to." Davey shook his head. "But that's not the point! The point is, Joe is _scared_. The poor guy's head is spinning! Same for Weasel, and Oscar and Morris and the bulls - even they know that we're a force to reckoned with."

"And how can you be so sure?"

"I mean, why else would they send for so much extra protection? The goons, and the cops. If they were so confident, why would they need all that?"

"Ya know...ya may be right," muttered Jack.

"_Thank you, God_!" exclaimed his friend.

"If he wasn't afraid..."

"Exactly! He_ knows_ we're winning!"

Katherine and Les joined in trying to convince him, and eventually they wore him down. He would rejoin the newsies and go back on strike. Like Davey said – they'd do whatever it takes.

"Shake on it?"

They all spit into their hands and shook. "We're back!" beamed Davey as he wiped his hands on his pants.

_"And I've got a date!"_

* * *

**A/N: This was a fun little chapter. I think Jack has always been one of the characters that's been harder for me to write, though I felt like this chapter was a little easier. I did enjoy writing Jack sort of battling with his own emotions – he's busy brooding, and then Katherine and the Jacobs brothers come in and make him smile. It was also nice to write the back-and-forth between Davey and Jack that goes down in Watch What Happens (Reprise). I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

**-mouse :)**


	12. In Which Friends Stay Friends

Chapter Twelve: In Which a Meeting Happens and Friends Stay Friends

Word Count: 1,310

_Manhattan, 1899_

"But I've read your editorials, Mr. Pulitzer. How can you express so much sympathy for the trolley workers ad yet have none for the newsies?"

That was the same question Hannah was asking herself. She kept her mouth shut, though. She knew her place, and she still definitely wanted to keep her job.

"Because the trolley workers are striking for a fair contract. The newsies are striking against _me_."

_Of course_, thought Hannah.

The mayor sighed. "I'd save you this embarrassment if I could, but the burlesque house is private property."

"You can't order a raid without legal cause," Seitz added.

"Mr. Mayor," Pulitzer persisted, "would the fact that this rally is organized by an escaped convict be cause enough to shut it down?"

_An escaped convict_, Hannah mocked in her head. Mister Pulitzer had been going on about that for a while now, and while the stealing that the poor boy had done was worth punishing, the refuge was a horrible place. She would have tried to escape, too. She felt bad for the kid and hoped to see the day when that torturous place was shut down.

"An escaped convict...?"

"A fugitive from one of your own institutions. An escaped thief at large, wreaking havoc on our law-abiding community." He turned to Snyder. "Mr. Snyder, which one is it?"

_Ha_, thought Hannah dryly. He doesn't even know what the kid looks like. It was sad to her._ I mean, if you're going to call someone names, you should at least know who they are._

"That one, there," said Snyder, pointing at the boy. Hannah craned her neck to get a look. He had the look of leadership about him, and he stood, proudly, defiantly, with his head held high. She had warned her boss. But no, he had refused to heed her admonition, and now he was losing money.

"How do you know this boy?" the mayor inquired.

"His is not a pleasant story. He was first sentenced to my refuge for loitering and vagrancy, but his total disregard for authority has made him a frequent visitor." Snyder looked like he was about to say more, but then the mayor jumped in.

"You called him a thief and escaped convict."

"After his release, I caught him myself, red handed, trafficking stolen food and clothing. He was last sentenced to six months, but the willful ruffian escaped."

_Willful ruffian_. Interesting choice of words.

"So," said Pulitzer, "you would be doing the city a favor by removing this criminal from our streets."

The mayor sighed again. "Well, if that's the case, we can take him in quietly and then - "

Pulitzer slammed his hands on the table. _"What good would quiet do me?"_

Hannah was sorely tempted to snap her fingers by her ears just to make sure she could still hear after that outburst. _That was unnecessary._

"I want a public example made out of him."

Hannah quietly excused herself. She just needed some air right now. As she exited and had just left the building she saw someone who looked vaguely familiar. He was a boy, with the perfect likeness of the one in the newspaper.

"Jack Kelly?"

"That's me, Miss," he said, flashing a smile. "Any chance I'd be able to see Mr. Pulitzer himself?"

This was not exactly the way meetings were supposed to work, but she had to see this.

"Um, sure, right this way." Hannah hurried dutifully ahead as Jack walked reposefully behind. She arrived back in Pulitzer's office before he did and declared to the personnel, "The boy, Jack Kelly, is here."

"Here?"

"Just outside. He's asked to see you."

Pulitzer smiled. Hannah didn't like how that smile looked, and she feared what Pulitzer would concoct to punish Jack. "Well, ask, and ye shall be received. Mr. Snyder, would you please?" He pointed to Katherine, who had been present but silent and then pointed at a chair. "Sit."

_She's no dog_, Hannah thought bitterly, but again she held her tongue. One of these days, she'd have to tell Pulitzer exactly how she felt about the way he did things sometimes. Katherine sat, and her chair was turned around. Jack couldn't see her.

"Mr. Jack Kelly?" called Hannah nervously.

Jack strolled in, looking the opposite of how Hannah felt. "Afternoon, fellas," he said whistling. "And lady," he added, nodding at Hannah.

"And which Jack Kelly is this? The charismatic union organizer, or the petty theif and escaped convict?"

"Which one gives us more in common, huh?"

"Impudence is in bad taste when crawling for mercy."

"Crawlin'?" Jack repeated as if it were unthinkable. "Now that's a laugh. No. I just stopped by with an invite." He grinned. "It seems a few hundred of your employees are rallying to discuss...recent disagreements. Now, I only thought it only fair to invite you to state your case directly to the fellas. So what do you say, Joe, huh? Want I should save you a spot on the bill?"

Pulitzer glared. Hannah had a feeling this impromptu "meeting" was not going to go well.

* * *

Cassie heard Mush before she saw him. He was calling out for her as he came into the lodge, and this time she answered. "Hey." She said it quietly, making no effort to project her voice, but he heard her anyway. He found her quickly and was soon sitting next to her.

"So," he said.

"So," she responded.

"I, um, I read your letter. It was...it was sweet. It was really nice."

"Thank you," she said, rather tersely.

"So, is it true? All that stuff ya said about liking me, I mean?"

Cassie looked at him, somewhat incredulous. "Of course, it's true. Have you ever known me to be a good liar?"

"Well, no, but ya wrote it, so I couldn't really tell."

"Yeah, but why would I lie to you?"

"That's a good point," Mush admitted. They sat in silence for a little while. Cassie took furtive glances at him, but he seemed to be deep in thought. If he noticed her, he made no indication.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same, you know," Cassie said after a time. "I won't take it personally. I was telling you...mostly for me. So I didn't go insane," she said, chuckling. Mush laughed a little too, which made her happy.

"Can I tell you something, Cassie?"

"Anything."

"I really don't know how I feel."

"You...don't?" That definitely hadn't been the answer she was expecting. Actually, she didn't know what she was expecting, but it wasn't that.

"No." He shook his head. "I mean, it's more than a matter of just if I'm hurtin' your feelings. You'se already said that I won't either way. And I don't think I'd be hurtin' my own feelings either. I just don't have an answer for you yet."

"You don't?" Cassie repeated stupidly.

"I'll tell you when I do, of course, and I don't wanna hurt our friendship over this. I never really thought of you as someone I'd be interested in – no offense -"

" - none taken."

" - but now that I'se thinkin' about it, you'se...well, you'se pretty great. If I had to spend the rest of my life with one person, it'd be you."

Cassie blushed, and her heart swelled at the sentiment. But there was always a but.

"But..."

There it was.

"I wouldn't, right now at least, just say I'm interested. I dunno, but I wouldn't say yes, and I wouldn't say no. I'm kind of...undecided. Does that make sense?"

She nodded slowly. "I think so."

"Thanks for understandin', Cassie." Mush stood up. "Friends for now?"

She smiled. "Friends for now."

They shook hands and grinned.

* * *

**A/N: I know this is late, and I'm sorry, but there's a lot going on in my life right now. I did like writing this chapter, though, even if it was little short. I'm aware that Hannah wasn't technically in the scene that I wrote her into, but it really is fun writing her sarcasm. The translation of Cassie's French is coming soon, and Brooklyn is, too. ****;p **

**Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, and I would really appreciate if you could review and tell me any thoughts you had on the chapter! **

** -mouse :) **


	13. In Which Brooklyn is Here

Chapter Thirteen: In Which Brooklyn Is Here and Mush Considers His Options

Word Count: 2,204

_Manhattan, 1899_

It must have been a strange and funny sight, seeing tens of hundreds of newsboys all clad in red and black march across the Brooklyn Bridge with their heads held high. But that was indeed what was happening as they made their way to Manhattan to support their fellow newsies, with Spot Conlon in the lead. A rally was going to be held at Irving Hall, and they _had_ sent over a kid just to say that they could be counted on next event. Spot Conlon did many things, but he_ never_ broke a promise. He stayed true to his word, and so he rounded up all of the Brooklyn boys and headed down.

It felt weird, but exhilarating, to have so many of them all leaving Brooklyn at the same time. Spot had been to Manhattan a few times himself, though rarely in recent years. Unless anything was super confidential, he usually sent over another kid to relay the news. With Jacky-boy, you couldn't tell. Sometimes he came, sometimes he didn't. When he did, though, it usually wasn't with anyone else, which is why it surprised Spot to see him with that Mouth kid. He wondered how he'd been holding up. Apparently, the Mouth had become something of an advocate for Jack, who'd been supposedly missing for a few days. News traveled fast among the newsies (it was their job to spread it, after all, headlines or otherwise), but Spot hadn't heard much else about Jack recently. He supposed that Jack would have to have returned in order to be holding a rally, unless the Mouth was doing it for him.

The walk to 'Hattan was long and tiring, but Spot knew it was going to be worth it when they were able to help their fellow newsies protest against the injustice that was Pulitzer. This rally was going to be something. It_ had_ to be.

* * *

Mush was dreading asking Cassie for a translation of _je t'aime_. He didn't know why, but he always prepared himself to ask her and then backed down at the last minute. Anyone watching would have thought he was delivering bad news.

He was not.

Just regretting zoning out when Cassie went on about French words. He definitely should have paid more attention.

He still found himself flushing when he reread the note (which he had done on a number of occasions; he practically had it memorized by now).

Mush had even planned what he would say: "Hey, Cassie, what does_ je t'aime_ mean?" It was such a simple, innocent question. Why couldn't he ask it?

He thought that their conversation might have something to do with it. He had been completely honest – he _didn't_ know how he felt about her. Or at least, he hadn't then. But the more he thought about it, the more he thought he might be making his decision, whether it was what he'd expected or not.

He'd decide to say it, and then look over and see her deep in thought or conversation, her aquamarine eyes ablaze, and get those weird nervous butterflies before changing his mind.

Cassie, on the other hand, seemed exactly the opposite. She was fully back to her confident, non-stuttery self. If she was at all discouraged, she showed no signs. The hopefulness of the strike (and the upcoming rally) and the morale of the newsboys was constantly fluctuating, but somehow, Cassie was relentlessly optimistic. Her consistent determination and resoluteness never once wavered as they prepared for the rally that could make or break everything. If Mush knew Cassie, she was a realist – she had a logical mind, and if things were likely to have a positive outcome, she let them know. However, they didn't always, and she was never one to ignore the negative. With the rally, a lot of things could go wrong, but she never mentioned any of them. She had complete faith. It was nice.

He remembered what she'd said back on the bridge when the strike was still a new thing about all the best things being on the other side of fear. Thinking about that made Mush want to ask even more, but for some reason his feet stayed rooted to their spot.

* * *

The rally so far was going great.

True, it hadn't really started yet, but everyone who promised they'd be there was there (including Brooklyn!), and the hall was packed. Davey looked around expectantly. He would start as soon as Jack arrived.

Brooklyn, of course, had made a grand entrance, arriving to cheers and claps from the other boroughs, which Davey had happily joined. They were all, for some reason, wearing red and black. Davey didn't really care what they were wearing – he was just glad they'd showed up.

"Never fear, Brooklyn's here," Spot Conlon had said, and Davey had grinned and even, before he realized what he was doing, spit-shaken hands with him. It was sort of an odd feeling, to know that he wasn't as entirely repulsed by it as he had been when he'd first become a movie, but one could change a lot in just a few weeks.

And now he stood next to Les, proud of what he and the newsies had been able to pull together as he waited for Jack.

After a while of waiting, people started to get antsy. "Hey, where's Jack?"

Where _was_ Jack? He was supposed to have come, right?

"_Jack! Jack! Jack! Jack!_" The newsies began chanting, as if Jack was just going to appear from their calling. Though a part of Davey hoped he would – he had already spoken in front of the newsies once, and even that was with Jack's help. He was not looking forward to doing it again in front of a bigger audience.

He went over to Medda to ask if she had seen the keynote speaker of this rally, but before he could, she said, "Sorry, kid, no sight of him yet. Looks like you're gonna have to be doin' a solo this time."

"No, I can't - " he started to protest, but he knew she was right. He walked into the center of the crowd and put his hands out to quiet them down. "Newsies of New York! Look at what we've done. We've got newsies from every pape and every neighborhood here tonight. Tonight, you're making history! Alright? Tonight, we declare that we are just as much a part of the newspaper as any reporter or editor! We are done being treated like kids. From now on we are being treated as equals!" Cheering. He opened his mouth to say more, when he heard Jack's familiar voice.

"You wanna be treated like an adult? Start acting like one – don't just run your mouth, make some sense."

"And here's Jack!" Davey mostly ignored Jack's sharper-than-usual tone of voice, relieved to not have to speak. He had no idea what he would say.

There was an abundance of cheers for perhaps the most well-known of the Manhattan newsies, which Jack evidently didn't appreciate. "Alright," he said to get them to calm down. "Alright!" he shouted. "Pulitzer raised the price of papes without so much as a word to us and that was a lousy thing to do. So's we got mad, and we told him we ain't gonna be pushed around. So, we go on strike, and then what happens? Well, Pulitzer rolls back the price of papes, so's we go back to work." More cheering, but Jack put his hand up. He wasn't finished. "But then, a few weeks after that, he hikes up the price again, and don't think he won't. What do we do then? And what about when he raises them again? And again after that? Fellas, we gotta be realistic here! If we don't work, we don't get paid! How long can you go without making any money? Believe me, however long,_ Pulitzer can go longer_. Now. I have spoken to Mr. Pulitzer..." He paused, as if he was debating something. He might have been. Something was off here, but Davey couldn't place his finger on whatever it was. "He has given me his word that if we disband the union - "

_"Disband the union?"_

Davey's stomach sank. Jack couldn't be serious. This was a joke, it had to be. A cruel joke, sure, bur even that would be better than the reality of this situation.

"He will not raise prices again for two years! He will even put that in writing - " Jack was yelling now, but he still go drowned out by the protests of the newsies. Jack turned to leave again, and stumbled right into the way of a snickering Seitz, who handed him a stack of cash.

"He's a sellout!" Finch yelled.

Chaos broke out.

Davey couldn't say anything, do anything. He could only stand there, disbelieving and watching the scene unfold in front of him. Spot Conlon pushed Back and he stumbled backwards; Les tapped him on the shoulder and Jack raised a hand as he whipped around. Davey started. _No one_ hurt his baby brother.

Fortunately, Les scrambled away in time and everyone else made their way out. Medda shook her head and walked off. Davey still refused to believe what his eyes were seeing. This couldn't be happening. His mouth was hanging open and he could only stare as everyone cleared out. Eventually he regained his senses and turned away, shaking his head.

The rally so far was_ not_ going great.

* * *

Cassie looked up at the sound of her name to see Mush standing above her. Of course, she was in the library, so it wasn't all that surprising. She hoped Mush couldn't tell she'd been crying.

"Hey," he sad sitting down next to her.

"How'd you know I was in here?"

"Hm, let's see. 'I'se Cassie Anderson and I'se really upset, so where do I go? Certainly not the one place with literally hundreds of books at my disposal!'" Mush said in a cheeky imitation of her.

Despite herself, she laughed. "You got me."

"Yeah." Mush's expression shifted to one of concern. "You alright?"

"'I have never known any trouble that an hour's reading didn't assuage.' Baron de Montesquieu."

"Oh yeah? Well, I hope this Montesquieu guy was right, 'cause ya seemed pretty troubled out there."

"He is, mostly. And I _was_ troubled. Weren't you?"

"Well, yeah, but you seemed really upset. Like, more so that I'se ever seen ya, I think."

"Oh, no, you've definitely seen me worse than this. But I _was_ really upset. I guess it's just…I've never done anything like this before. Of course, I don't think any of us have, but my point is that it's a risk. I don't take risks. There's just so much that could go wrong. I mean, I've always stayed on the safer side, even after I became a newsie. But with the strike, I wasn't as averse to it as I thought I'd be. I went along with it. I had so much Faith and now it's just…falling apart. Again."

"Cassie…"

"I'm sorry. I realize how weird that sounds and I don't know if it made any sense but - "

"Cassie. Look at me."

And she did.

"You have_ nothing_ to apologize for. I think...I think we's all feelin' a little betrayed after what we just saw. But if I know Jack, and I do, it was a sort of a 'lesser of two evils' type thing. This is probably what he thought was the better option."

"Really? I admire your trust in him, Mush, but maybe it wasn't. What could be worse than selling us out? If it was that bad, the other option would probably involve him. Maybe he was trying to save his own skin. Which is fine, but I think that was a choice that he made, not one he was forced into making."

"You might think that, but Jack wouldn't do that to us. I know he wouldn't."

"I know. I'm just _angry_. Whatever his reason, it wasn't cool."

"You're right. We'll figure this out. We always do."

And for some unexplainable reason, she started crying again.

"Oh, don't cry," said Mush softly. "Here. Tell me about the book you'se readin'."

Cassie sniffed. "Um, it's called Emma, and it's written by Jane Austen, and it's about a rich, well-off girl who believes that she matched two people together who later got married..."

And she explained the plot and read the book with him. When she calmed back down, she smiled brightly.

She really did love Mush Meyers.

* * *

**A/N: I usually don't put four different sections of characters in one chapter, but I'm quite happy with how this one turned out. I would love if you could review and share your thoughts!**

**-mouse :)**


	14. In Which Katherine Has A Plan

Chapter Fourteen: In Which Jack Is Confronted and Katherine Has A Plan

Word Count: 1,728

_Manhattan, 1899_

Katherine made no effort to put the drawings back when she heard Jack climbing angrily up the ladder.

"What're _you_ doin' up here?"

Katherine had meant to respond calmly, but admittedly, the ferocity of Jack's voice startled her and she responded a lot more defensively than she'd planned. "Well, Specs showed me up!"

"_What, and did he say you could go through my stuff_?" He asked, snatching them back and rolling them back up.

"I saw them rolled up sticking out of there!" she said, gesturing to the place she'd found them. "I didn't know what they were." She opened the one she still held in her hand. "These drawings...these are drawings of the refuge, aren't they?"

Jack didn't answer.

"Is this really what it's like in there?" Katherine asked, though she knew the answer. "Three boys to a bed, rats everywhere and vermin..." she trailed off. _This_ was the nightmarish place Crutchie was living in? After seeing that, well...she didn't entirely blame Jack for wanting to get away from it all.

"What, a little different from how you were raised?" Jack replied coolly, snatching that drawing, too.

Katherine jumped a bit when he took it, but pressed on. "Snyder told my father that you were arrested stealing food and clothing. This is why, isn't it? You stole to feed those boys."

Again, Jack remained silent, which Katherine took to mean tacit confirmation. "I-I don't understand!" she blurted out. "If you risked going to jail for those boys, how could you turn your back on them now?"

This got a response. Jack whirled around, his face blazing with something like fury. "Oh, I do not think you are one to talk about turnin' on folks!" he said, jabbing a finger in her face.

"I never turned on you or anyone else."

"Oh, no you didn't. You just double-crossed us to your father. Your_ father_!"

Right. There was that. Katherine had totally forgotten about the meeting that Jack had with her father. She'd been powerless to do anything to stop him finding out, but inside she hoped that he'd look past that and continue to help her. It seemed, somehow, like she'd only just gained the trust of the newsies, and she didn't want to break that now. Because the truth was, she liked Jack Kelly, a lot, and she wanted to show him that if there was any way she could help, she would. But he had to let her. Jack stomped across the rooftop, and she quickly followed.

"My father has eyes on every corner of the city! He doesn't need me spying for him. And I _never_ lied." The look of outright skepticism on Jack's face prompted her to continue. "I just...didn't tell you everything."

If she was remembering her mother's teachings correctly, that was technically called a lie of omission, but at the time, the information hadn't been important, so she figured it shouldn't count.

Jack looked at her. "If you weren't a girl, you'd be trying to talk with a fist in your mouth."

_How polite_, was her first, dry thought. _How do I fix this?_ was the next.

"Look. I told you that I worked for the Sun, and I did. I told you that my professional name is Plumber, and it is. You never asked my real one." It was true, and it was a fact that she was counting on to be her saving grace. Her real name was never something that was important for him to know at the time, and seeing as their relationship (at least, then) was a strictly professional one, it seemed only fitting for that to be the name she gave out.

Apparently, Jack hadn't given this as much thought as she had. "I didn't think I woulda had to unless I knew I was dealin' with a backstabber!"

A backstabber! _Remind me, again, who it was that made you front page news? That got you a spot in the papers at all?_ "Oh, and if I was a boy," she said darkly, finally letting her frustration surface, you'd be looking at me through _one swollen eye!"_

"Well, don't let that stop you! Gimme your best shot!"

And so, she did.

Or, at least, she meant to.

What actually ended up happening was this: Katherine raised her hand to deliver to Jack the biggest slap of his life, but instead used that hand and her other to grab his face and kiss him.

Funny how quickly one's plans can change.

When they staggered apart, Jack looked as taken aback as how Katherine herself felt. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but she was, for once, speechless.

"I need to know that you didn't cave for the money," she finally said.

"No, I spoke the truth. Ya win a fight when ya got the other guy down eatin' pavement."

_Not exactly, but I'll let you have that one._

"You heard your father. No matter how many days we strike, he ain't never givin' up. I don't..." he sighed. "I don't know what we _can_ do."

"Ah, but I do."

"Oh, come on - "

"Really, Jack? Really? Only you can have a good idea? Or is it because I'm a girl?"

"Oh, I did not say _nothin'_ \- "

"This would be a good time to shut up." She paused, smirking at the expression on Jack's face. "Being boss doesn't mean you have all the answers. Just the brains to recognize the right one when you hear it." At this, she pulled out the piece of paper that she had, folded up in her pocket, which was her entire purpose for coming up here.

"I'm listenin'."

"Oh, good for you. The strike was your idea's the rally was Davey's and now my plan will take us to the finish line. Deal with it." She held it up for him to read.

"'The Children's Crusade.'" he read aloud, taking the paper.

She began to recite what she had already committed to memory. "'For the sake of all the kids in every sweatshop, factory, and slaughterhouse in New York, I beg you, join us.'"

Jack looked at it thoughtfully.

"With those words, the strike stopped being about just the newsies. You've challenged our whole generation to stand up and demand a place at the table."

"The children's crusade..."

"Just think, Jack, if we publish this...my words - " she gasped excitedly as she walked over to the container of rolled-up parchment, " - with one of your drawings, _and_ if every worker under twenty-one read it and stayed home from work – or better yet, they came to newsies square for a rally! A general, citywide strike. I mean, even my father couldn't ignore that!"

"Only one problem: we got no way to print it."

"Oh, come on, there has to be _one_ printing press he doesn't control."

The two of them were silent for a moment, and then Jack made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "...Oh, no."

"What?"

"I know where there's one printin' press no one would ever think we'd use."

Katherine laughed. "Well, then what're we still standing here for?" She made to go down the ladder but stopped at the sound of Jack's voice.

"Hey, hey, wait. What's this about? And I don't mean the children's crusade." He made a you-and-me motion. "Am I kiddin' myself, or is there really somethin'..." he trailed off again.

"Well, of course there is!" Wasn't it obvious? Had their kiss not been _romantic_ enough?

"Don't say it like it happens every day!"

"Jack - "

"No, no, I'm not an idiot! I know that...that girls like you don't go for guys like me. I don't want you promisin' somethin' you're just gonna take back later. But standin' here tonight, starin' at you...I'm scared. Tomorrow is gonna come and change everything. If there was a way I could grab hold of something and make time stop, just so I could keep looking at you..."

She smiled softly and walked back over to him. "You snuck up on me, Jack Kelly. I never even saw it coming."

"For sure?"

"For sure," Katherine agreed in her best impression of Jack's accent. "Until I met you, Jack, I thought I knew _love._ But I guess I didn't have much experience with love then. I'm still learning, and one thing I've learned is that love will do what love does."

Jack smiled, so she continued: "The world comes up with its ways to knock you down and then all of a sudden it decides to give you hope. Even if it is only for a little while. And a little while could be forever, and it might be for only a moment. But when that moment ends, what we have doesn't just go away. Knowing that you believed in me gives _me_ something to believe in."

"I'se pretty sure," he began with a crooked smile, "that we was never supposed to meet in the first place." Katherine giggled. "But for some reason, we did, and now, well, we's here. And you're the reason I have something to believe in." He looked away and leaned on the railing. "If things were different..."

"If you weren't going to Santa Fe..."

"Yeah, if you weren't an heiress," Jack said laughing as she nudged him. "And if your father wasn't after my head."

"You're not really scared of my father?"

"No, but I am pretty scared of you."

Katherine laughed. "Don't be!" She paused. "Listen Jack, I meant what I said. If circumstances change, this - " she gestured around them, " - this moment, this relationship – doesn't. I love you, Jack Kelly."

They kissed sweetly again and discussed plans to print the paper and hold the rally.

They were going to end this, once and for all.

* * *

**A/N: So, this chapter is a little short, but I really just wanted to focus on Jack and Katherine and their relationship for a chapter, so what better place to do that than the Something to Believe In scene? I enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoyed reading it! If you can, please leave a review and share your thoughts.**

** -mouse :)**


	15. In Which Jack Gives A Speech

Chapter Fifteen: In Which Jack Gives A Speech and Cassie Visits A Friend

Word Count: 1836

_Manhattan, 1899_

Jack stood in front of the newsies as they waited eagerly (or anxiously, he couldn't tell) for him to make his "big announcement." He figured they'd need to know about Katherine's relation to Pulitzer, and that it would be best for them to hear it from him instead of finding out otherwise. After all, they might react the way Jack had, and when it's one person it's fine, but all those newsies would likely be very upsetting. Besides, no one could care for Katherine the way he did. To his knowledge, they all liked her well enough, but not like him.

He took a deep breath and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hey! Listen up, everybody!" When he was sure he had their complete attention, he inhaled again. "I'se sure you'se aware of how helpful Miss Katherine Plumber has been to us and our cause. Please keep that in mind when I tell ya what I'm about to tell ya."

The newsies looked around, concern flickering over some of their faces. Some of them mumbled to each other but kept their eyes trained on Jack.

"As it turns out, Katherine is...well, the daughter of Joe Pulitzer. But - " he tried to speak quickly and loudly, so no one could cut him off, but his plan failed.

"_What_?" Several people stood up or exclaimed in outrage. "That traitor!" There was lots of shouting, but some even looked too shell shocked to speak.

This was exactly what Jack was afraid of. He could see where there were coming from, though. At first, he'd felt the same way. However, all things considered, there was no reason to feel like that. Katherine had never once told her father what was going on, as it were, and she'd offered to help even after they'd shut her down. She _still_ wanted to help. Jack put a hand up to quiet them down.

"I know, I know, but it sounds worse than it is. She couldn't help being born a Pulitzer, and it ain't somethin' she can exactly change either. But she's helpin' us – remember, she don't have to – and for that, we should at least let her continue. She ain't done anything that gives us a reason to think she betrayed us or double-crossed us or anythin' like that." He looked out at the sea of faces before him. "I know that a lot of you's got things you don't want us to know. Things ya done, places or people ya come from. But no matter what, we's family. And if you'se never done anything wrong here, then it ain't our problem. I'd say the same applies to Katherine. She never did nothin'." He could see the change in expression as people considered this. "We all in agreement?" It wasn't exactly the best speech, but for now, it'd have to suffice.

The newsies nodded or mumbled quiet yeah's, and Jack, feeling much more relaxed, started the second part of his talk. "Good. Now that that's settled...we made a plan. A plan bigger than the rally or anythin' else like that. Pulitzer won't be able to ignore it."

"What kinda plan?" asked Race cautiously.

"Well, I'm glad you asked, Racer. We want to do something called the Children's Crusade. We plan to publish an article advertising another rally – every worker under twenty-one comes to newsies square. As Katherine said, even Pulitzer couldn't ignore that. And I know where we can print it. Only problem is, we can't do it on our own. We need you guys' help."

They murmured to each other, seemingly thinking it over. Jack knew it wasn't a bad idea, and he knew that some of them still might not trust him completely after what he'd done at the other rally, but it was something they'd need to think over. When the whispering subsided, he looked over them again. "So...will ya help us?"

Everyone agreed. "Like ya said, Jack," said Mush, smiling slightly, "we's family. We started this together, and we're gonna finish it the same way."

* * *

Cassie was very nervous and very excited. How many workers would show up? Before, when it was just the newsies, the crowd was large enough, but now? Hundreds of children, all in newsies square, protesting against their injustices. It was an inspiring thought – but she was getting ahead of herself. They still needed to spread the word. That was what they planned on doing tonight, when they had the best chance of sneaking in without getting caught. Katherine was supposed to get the keys, and the newsies would print the papers. A simple plan, it seemed, but it could take more work than expected. After all, none of them had ever actually printed papers before. It might prove to be difficult.

And Katherine. Katherine _Pulitzer._ Plumber had a much nicer ring to it. Cassie was less angry, and more shocked. While Jack had been right in that technically, Katherine hadn't done anything to betray their trust, it still felt like a letdown. Like she'd sold them out. It was a similar feeling to her initial reaction to Jack at the rally, although Jack actually had sold them out (she was still rather bitter about that, but not a lot). She hoped this would go well.

They still had a while until then. She pulled out her copy of Emma and opened it, only to stare at it for a few moments and then close it again. She was bored, and for the first time in a very long while, she didn't feel like reading. "I'm going for a walk," she announced to no one in particular, and left the lodge.

She didn't exactly have a plan of where she was going, but she wasn't surprised when she ended up at the dress shop a few blocks down. She looked inside and smiled with relief that her friend, Jenny, was there.

Jenny was a very pretty girl with a very pretty English accent and a flair for the dramatic. She and Cassie had been pen pals even before she moved to Manhattan, since their mothers had been friends. Then, when Cassie discovered that the shop that doubled as her friend's home was in the area, she started making semi-regular visits.

Cassie went inside.

"Cassandra!" Jenny exclaimed. "It's so good to see you. And it hasn't even been two months yet!"

"Ha ha." Cassie laughed dryly, but was unable to keep the smile off her face.

"I know, I know, I know, I'm just teasing. In all honesty, I'm glad that you still visit me – I know that being a newsie can be very time-consuming." They went upstairs, which was where the family actually lived, and into Jenny's room.

"So," Jenny said seriously as they sat across from each other, "I trust your friends' strike wounds are healing up nicely? You certainly look better than when I last saw you."

Cassie nodded. "They're definitely getting better, though Crutchie is sill in the refuge, and we don't know how long until he gets out. If at all."

"Oh, Cassandra, that's horrible!"

Cassie nodded again. Jenny was one of three people whom Cassie allowed to call her by her full name, the others being her aunt Quinn and her mother.

"Well, I hope he does. We're praying for you."

"Thank you, Jenny."

"Now that we've got that out of the way," her friend began, looking much more eager, "what else is going on with you? Any positive strike news, any particularly interesting books, any romantic feelings for a _certain_ blue-eyed boy?"

Cassie flushed, though from surprise as well as embarrassment. "Lots of the newsies have blue eyes."

"Ah, so you do!"

Cassie didn't respond.

"Don't pretend you don't know who I'm talking about, Cassandra. I have six sisters, nothing gets by me. You and that Nicholas are like two peas in a pod – I mean, it was only a matter of time until one of you fell for the other. To be honest, I had a hunch during your last visit, but your reaction just now gave me all the proof I needed. Now, tell me _everything_."

"There's not much to tell. And besides, he probably doesn't feel the same way. He said he didn't know."

"Wait, _he knows_? Did you tell him?"

"...Yes? You seem very unnecessarily excited about this."

"I am! Oh, I can't help myself. I am a hopeless romantic, after all, and seeing as I unfortunately have no beau of my own, I must live vicariously through the love lives of others. And I'm proud of you."

"For what?"

"For working up the courage to tell him, of course! If the romance novels that we've likely both read are any indication, that kind of thing is difficult."

"Well, I guess, but in the grand scheme of things - "

"Don't think about that right now. You did something that a lot of people don't do. You should be proud of you, too."

Cassie smiled. "Thanks." She admittedly hadn't thought about that.

"Don't worry about whether or not he does fancy you, either. If he doesn't, you'll get over it. And if he does, well, yay you! Don't ever let what Nick thinks of you determine what _you_ think of you, okay?"

"Okay."

_"Promise?"_

Cassie smiled. "Promise."

"Oh, before I forget!" Jenny rushed out, and came back with what looked like a bundle of sparkling fabric. "I made you something! Or, well, I made_ me_ something, but I didn't like how it looked on me, so I made a few adjustments and now it's for you." She held it out, so that it was clearly discernible as a dress.

"Thank you, Jenny. But…"

"But?"

"Well, it's beautiful, and green_ is_ my favorite color, but when would I wear it? It's not the kind of practical dress that I could wear as a newsie, and it looks a little big, too."

"Of course it's big, so you can grow into it! But I see your point. Perhaps you could wear it at you and Nick's wedding?"

_"Jenny!"_

"Only joking, love," said Jenny with a cheeky smile. "If you ever find use for it, you know where to find me."

"Maybe I will." Cassie stood. "I think I'll head out now, but thanks for talking."

"Of course." They went downstairs. "Bye, Cassandra!" Jenny waved as she left. _"Bonne chance!"_

* * *

**A/N: Many apologies for the very late chapter! I actually had some writer's block, but fortunately it went away before I finished the chapter. I had quite a bit of fun writing this (Jenny is a very entertaining character to write :p) , and next chapter, the action will definitely pick up. Hopefully you enjoyed this, and I'd love to hear your thoughts in a review!**

**-mouse :)**


	16. In Which Decisions are Made

Chapter Sixteen: In Which Papers are Printed and Decisions are Made

Word Count: 1,395

_Manhattan, 1899_

Mush had never actually been inside The World building, and this would have felt like breaking and entering if it weren't for the fact that Katherine had keys. Where she got those keys, Mush wouldn't ask, but it wasn't like it was important anyway. They were doing something monumental - this was no time to be pedantic.

Katherine, Jack, Davey, and Race were inside getting everything ready, so Mush and the other newsies stood outside waiting for them to unlock the door. It was cold, being nighttime, so everyone was huddled together in as many layers of clothes as they had. They'd also brought as many people as they could – friends, family, and acquaintances that knew how to operate a press. This was going to a big job, and as excited as he was to print these papers and put an end to (or at least make more people aware of) Pulitzer's superciliousness, he was nervous. How many ways could this go wrong? And what would happen if it did?

He turned to Romeo, whom he was standing beside. "Do ya think this'll work?"

Romeo shrugged. "Why wouldn't it? We've got people on our sides and spite in our hearts." He grinned. "It's a perfect storm. 'Sides, we can't be the only ones who wanna out Pulitzer. Someone out there's gotta agree with our cause."

Mush nodded. "I guess."

After a moment of staring at him quizically, Romeo smiled. "Anythin' else ya wanna ask?"

He didn't answer.

"Aw, c'mon, I can see it plain on your face, even as dark as it is. What is it?"

"...could ya at least give me a hint of what je t'aime means?"

Romeo laughed. "I shoulda known! I can't tell ya anythin', but Cassie's literally right over there. Why don't ya ask her?"

Mush took a deep breath. "Ya know what? You're right. I'se been puttin' this off for too long."

"That's the spirit!"

Mush walked over to Cassie, who was talking with her friend, Jenny. When he approached, Jenny stopped talking and smiled knowingly with a glance towards Cassie. "Oh, hello, Mush. I haven't seen you in a while."

Cassie turned around. "Hey, Mush," she said, smiling.

"Hi, Jenny, Cassie. Um, Cassie, can I ask ya somethin'?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Uh, what does - "

Just then, Racetrack threw open the doors. "Guys, come on in!"

The entire crowd of newsies and otherwise rushed in and followed Race to the basement.

Once inside, they worked like a well-oiled machine. Two of Katherine's friends and some of the newsies' friends worked the press, and everyone else waited for the papers to print so they could start putting them up and spreading the word. They worked tirelessly almost all night. Mostly in pairs, the newsies that weren't operating the press went outside and posted the papers to walls and lampposts. Of course, they had lots left over to give out in the morning – not for money, obviously; that would technically be selling a newspaper and thus defying their strike.

Cassie and Mush handed out papers together that next morning.

"Mush?" Cassie asked.

"Yeah?" He turned to look at her, and then back around to ask a lady if she'd like a paper. The lady shrugged and obliged, and Mush turned back to Cassie.

"What were you going to ask me yesterday night?"

"Huh?"

"Last night at The World building, you – please sir, take a paper, free of charge – you said you wanted to ask me something. What was it?"

"Uh…" Now's your chance, Mush! What does je t'aime mean? "I forgot."

"Oh, I hate it when that happens," said Cassie, sounding convinced enough. "Well, when you remember, ask me."

Mush nodded. "Sure thing." Why was this so hard? It was just a question, and it was just Cassie, right? It wasn't like he was proposing to her.

Maybe he was scared of the answer. What else could it be? Even though he knew for sure now that Cassie wasn't lying about her crush on him, it might still be something mean. Or something extreme. Maybe it was just something that he thought he wouldn't want to hear.

He decided that he wouldn't ask her – he'd find out for himself. There was, after all, a library near the lodge. There had to be French books there somewhere.

They handed out papers for a while without conversation, and when they were almost out, Cassie finally broke the not-quite-silence.

"So. How many people do you think will actually show up to the rally?"

"A fair amount, I'd say," said Mush, grateful to finally get his mind off of French. "Definitely not everyone, but I think we can count on a lot of people."

"You might actually be right. I'm sure someone cares. Someone has to. And with all the papers we have out, plus the ones the others gave, the chances of every single person just not caring whatsoever are probably pretty slim."

Mush smiled. "Yeah."

That afternoon, Mush stopped at the library. For once, he thought, it was of his own volition; not to ask a favor or to make Cassie happy. He was doing this for himself, sort of. He stepped inside.

* * *

_I love you._

_Je t'aime_ meant _I love you_.

Cassie loved Mush.

But did Mush love Cassie?

Platonically, sure. But romantically…maybe?

Mush was glad he had ventured to find the answer for himself – that conversation would have been awkward to have. But now he was left with his own racing thoughts to make multiple decisions: _Bring it up, or don't bring it up? Do I love her, or do I not? How do I respond to that, if at all?_

He closed his eyes and sighed. He was definitely overthinking this. People said they loved things and other people all the time. That didn't mean they meant it in the most extreme ways. Jack was always saying he loved Medda's show – that didn't mean he'd go off and marry it, now did it?

Cassie knew a lot of French. There were certainly other things she could have written to him that would have been stretching it more than just an I love you.

And Romeo, the little bum. Of course he knew what je t'aime meant. Of course he wouldn't tell Mush. Of course he'd be trying to set Mush and Cassie up.

The other newsies knew, too, he realized. They just wouldn't tell him. He had been oblivious.

Mush put the French to English book back in its place on the shelf and decided that he would give his answer to Cassie for once and for all.

He went back to the lodge thinking about how he was going to tell her.

"Hi, Mush," Cassie said cheerfully when he approached her and Romeo. "Where were you?"

"I stopped by the library on the way here."

"Oh?" asked Cassie, sounding rather surprised. "What were you reading?"

He shrugged. "I looked around..." That wasn't a complete lie. He had looked around – for the French books, at least – but Cassie didn't need to know that until he gave her his answer.

"Aw, you didn't find anything you wanted to read?" Cassie asked, pouting slightly.

"I think that's more your thing, Cassie," Romeo joined in, saving Mush from having to respond.

"I guess you're right."

"I always am." Romeo grinned. "So did you guys hand out most of your papes?"

"Actually, we gave away all of them. Cassie says there's a pretty good chance of people comin', too."

"Mm-hm. And some of us invited our friends and family, so if they show, we'll have enough people to attract attention for sure. There's no way Pulitzer won't roll back prices after that," Cassie added.

"I hope so. We can't strike forever."

"We can't, but…we've gotten this far – might as well finish strong."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! This was a nice chapter to write, but the next one will hopefully be even better since it's the chapter where Jack confronts Pulitzer. A lot of Once And For All is, I think, more for the sake of choreography than anything else, so I didn't get to write as much of it as I wanted to, but I hoped you liked the chapter anyway.** **I would really appreciate if you could review and tell me what you think!**

**-mouse :)**


	17. In Which the Phones are Ringing

Chapter Seventeen: In Which the Phones are Ringing and the Newsies are Singing

Word count: 2,023

_Manhattan, 1899_

The phones were ringing off the hook.

They had been all morning, in fact. While Pulitzer stared dramatically into the distance probably thinking about how to reverse this problem he had undoubtedly caused, Hannah and Bunsen had to answer the phones with the same response every time: "Mr. Pulitzer's not available right now, he'll have to call you back!" It was tiresome.

_If only _someone_ had cautioned him against raising the prices_, Hannah thought wryly as she sighed softly and moved to pick up the phone – again.

"Silence those phones!" shouted Pulitzer at last.

Bunsen rather clumsily hung his phone up, and Hannah did so with relief. The phones would likely continue ringing, but Pulitzer commanded their attention, which meant that Hannah wouldn't have to answer them.

"The entire city's gotta be on their phones!" exclaimed Bunsen, not bothering to hide the exasperation in his voice. "Every line is full. No one is working anywhere and everyone's blaming _you_!"

"They're all calling," Hannah chimed in. "The mayor, the publishers, the manufacturers – _and such language_."

The people on the other side could have at least had the decency to watch their tongues when calling into a place of business. Imagine if she'd actually put Pulitzer on the line and he'd heard their incessant swearing! In reality, Hannah knew that if she'd put Pulitzer on the line, that swearing would have gotten a whole lot worse.

"The newsies have convinced so many people! And, like I said,_ you're the one being blamed here!_"

"I shouldn't be. I taught those boys something they'd never learn elsewhere. They need to understand economics before they get older or they won't make it anywhere in life."

Hannah pretended to scribble something on her ever-present notepad, mostly to look like she was concentrated and not just annoyed. _You haven't taught them anything but how to stand up to bullies like you_, she thought bitterly. "That may be so, sir," she began, "but obviously they didn't take it so well. They've managed to convince most of the working kids of the city to go on strike."

"I am not to blame for this," Pulitzer insisted. He stood up. "It's the workers' own fault for trading in valuable time and money to go stand around in the sun, doing what? Shouting till their throats are raw, waving signs till their arms are sore? I had nothing to do with that choice."

Bunsen pointedly looked anywhere but Pulitzer, so Hannah stepped in again. "Sir, I understand that it isn't directly your fault." She took a deep breath, not knowing how her employer would react to the next part of her claim. "_But,_ you have to admit, none of this would have happened, at least not so soon, if you hadn't raised the price of papers."

To Hannah's surprise (and relief), Pulitzer didn't fire her on the spot. In fact, he seemed to consider this. He opened his mouth to respond, but Seitz burst through the door, with Jack Kelly, union leader, right next to him.

"You can't just barge in here - "

"Mornin', gents!" the newsie exclaimed, slamming a paper onto Pulitzer's desk and evidently in a good mood.

"You're behind this," Pulitzer said. "We had a deal."

"And it came with a money back guarantee." Jack smirked and flipped the (untouched) wad of dollar bills onto Pulitzer's desk – then made himself comfortable on one of the chairs. "And I didn't forget your lesson on the powers of the press. Thank you for that, by the way."

Seitz snatched up the paper that the newsies had apparently produced and started skimming over it. Hannah read over his shoulder. _For the sake of all the kids in every sweatshop, factory, and slaughterhouse in this city, we beg you, join us._

"Have you read this, boss?" Seitz asked, then paused. "These kids put out a pretty good paper!"

"No doubt written by my daughter."

Right. Katherine Pulitzer. She had the opportunity to choose convenience, and she chose to work hard and pursue her own career. It was actually quite admirable.

"Uh, I would sign her before someone else does," Jack cut in, shrugging.

"I demand to know who defied my ban on printing strike material."

"Oh, well, we're your loyal employees. We'd never take our business elsewhere. We only used the best of the best, Joe."

There was silence as everyone processed this enigmatic statement, then Seitz said, "That old printing press in the cellar!"

"Ohhhh…" Hannah knew it had been a mistake to lock a little boy in a cellar – though for a different reason.

"I made you the offer of a lifetime. Anyone who does not act in his own self interest is a fool."

"What's that make you?" asked Jack's friend, who had apparently come in with him.

Pulitzer looked at him quizzically.

"This all started because you wanted to sell more papers. But now, your circulation is down by seventy percent. Why didn't you just come…talk to us?"

The boy made a point. Hannah remembered that day when her boss had just decided to charge the newsies extra, on only the supposition that they'd accept that change and even adore it so much they'd ask to pay more.

"Oh, 'cause guys like Joe don't talk to nobodies like us." Jack stood, looking more serious now. "But as a very wise reporter told me, bein' boss don't mean ya got all the answers. Nah. Just the smarts enough to snatch up the right one when ya hear it."

They all moved to the window. Hannah gasped quietly as she saw how many newsies there were outside, and she couldn't help but smile. They were all joined together and fighting in their own way. Who would have thought that the newsies, of all people, could be so powerful?

"Take a look out there, Mr. Pulitzer," said a short newsie in red and black. "In case you ain't figured it out, we got ya surrounded." They waved down at the newsies.

"New York is closed for business. _Paralyzed_. You can't get a paper or a shoe shine. Ya can't send a message, ride an elevator, or cross the Brooklyn bridge. You can't even get out of your own office. So what's your next move?" Jack stared Pulitzer down, his gaze unwavering and defiant.

Bunsen came back in (Hannah hadn't even noticed he'd left) running with more people behind him. "Mr. Pulitzer! Your daughter is here, along with the mayor and – oh! You won't believe who else!"

Indeed, the mayor strode casually in. "Mr. Pulitzer. I trust you know the governor? "

The governor?

The governor, _Theodore Roosevelt_, walked in alongside Katherine and the famous opener for the Bowery Beauties, Medda Larkin.

Hannah couldn't hide the grin on her face as Governor Roosevelt shook his head and smiled, then said to her boss:

"Joseph, Joseph, Joseph – what have you done now?"

* * *

"I'm certain when you hear my explanation - "

"Thanks to Miss Medda Larkin bringing your daughter to my office, I already have a thorough grasp on the situation – graphic illustrations included." He waved the container full of Jack's rolled up drawings.

Jack would have laughed at how nervous Pulitzer seemed in the presence of the governor if it weren't for how nervous he was himself. He met Katherine's eyes and gave her a small smile.

"'Bully' is the expression I usually employ to show approval." The governor walked up to Pulitzer and looked him in the eyes. "But in your case, I simply mean 'bully.'" He nodded at Jack, and then looked at Katherine and Medda. "And is this the boy of whom you spoke?" When Katherine nodded, he said, "How are you, son? I'm told we once shared a carriage ride!" He laughed heartily.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Governor," Jack managed to get out. Governor Roosevelt shook Jack's hand with an _impossibly_ firm grip, then turned to Pulitzer.

"Well, come along, Joe. Don't just stand there letting those children sing..._endlessly._..give 'em the good news!"

"What good news?"

"That you've come to your senses and rolled back prices! Unless, of course, you want to invite a full senate investigation into your employment practices?"

"You _wouldn't_."

"After all the pressure you wielded to keep me from office, I'd do it with a smile!" The governor continued. If he was even the slightest bit put off by Pulitzer's icy stare, it didn't register in his expression. "Come along, Joseph. There's only one thing worse than a hard heart – and that's a soft head. And besides, think of the happiness you'll bring to those children!"

Pulitzer didn't respond.

"He doesn't do 'happiness,' does he?"

_No, Governor, he does not._

Finally, Pulitzer spoke. "Mr. Kelly, if I may speak to you _alone_?"

One by one, everyone in the room (besides Pulitzer, of course) exited. Pulitzer's secretary clapped quietly for Jack as she left, and Governor Roosevelt put his hand on Jack's shoulder and whispered, "Keep your eyes on the stars and your feet on the ground. You can do this."

It was sort of encouraging, but it only all but calmed his nerves.

He was doing this for the newsies, he reminded himself. They were like family, and they didn't deserve this.

Pulitzer was silent for longer than was comfortable, so Jack looked around the office.

"I cannot put the price back where it was," he said finally. "I'm sorry, I can't. There are other things to consider."

"I get it, Joe. Ya gotta save face in fronta all the other folks. I'm young, I ain't stupid."

"Thank you for understa - "

"But I got constituents with a legitimate gripe!"

"What if I reduced the raise by half? And get the others to do the same? It's a compromise we can all live with!"

_Is it, Joe?_ Pulitzer couldn't be talking about compromises that "everyone could live with" when the newsies could barely even live _before_ he raised prices. "_But_ you eat our losses. From now on, every pape we can't sell, you buy back, full price."

"That was never on the table! What's to keep the newsies from taking hundreds of papers they cannot sell? My costs would explode!"

He really didn't know anything about the newsies, did he? They took as many papes as they were comfortable with, and it was routine. With a decent selling spot and some basic truth-improving skills, a newsie could sell almost all of their papers by evening. Jack practically laughed in disbelief. "No newsie is gonna break his back haulin' around papes he can't sell! But if he can take a few extra with no risk, _oh_, he might sell them and then_ your circulation would begin to grow_!" And, because he couldn't help himself, he mocked, "It's a compromise we can all live with_._"

Pulitzer was silent in cogitation. After a while he finally said, "That's not a bad head you've got on your shoulders."

"So do we have a deal?" Jack spit into his palm and held it out.

"That's disgusting."

"That's just the price of doin' business."

Pulitzer scrunched up his face, but reluctantly spit into his hand and shook Jack's.

It was a deal.

* * *

**A/N: Hello! I'm sorry if this chapter makes it seem like I'm dragging these last few scenes out – I'm not trying to. The next section I wanted to write, though, wasn't turning out the way I wanted it to, so I figured instead of waiting longer, I'd just post that section as part of the next chapter. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this one, and I'd love it if you could leave a review and let me know your thoughts!**

**-mouse :)**


	18. In Which The Newsies Won!

Chapter Eighteen: In Which the Newsies Won!

Word Count: 1,295

_Manhattan, 1899_

Mush was nervous.

He was nervous for a number of reasons. One of them being the crusade.

As of right now, the only newsies that were even _present_ were the Manhattan newsies. Many of their allies hadn't shown up yet, and Brooklyn, Queens, and the other boroughs hadn't either. Mush wasn't too sure they would at all, and evidently the other newsies felt the same.

That is, the other newsies except Elmer, who was entirely confident that everyone who agreed to be there would be there.

And then there was Cassie.

Mush had made his decision on how he felt about Cassie – it hadn't taken as long as he thought it would. But now that he had decided, he realized that he could have made it a lot sooner.

He was also nervous because not only was Jack meeting with Pulitzer, Crutchie was still in the refuge and the bulls could always come from nowhere to break up this rally like they had the first one.

There was a lot to be nervous about.

Being nervous, though, wasn't going to help anything. What would Cassie do? Well, there she was. He could ask her.

"Uh, hey, Cassie," he said. He felt another wave of anxiety wash over him. This was just reminding him again of everything he was nervous of, including what he was going to tell her. She turned from her conversation with Elmer.

"Hey, Mush," she replied.

"Do you...think the others are gonna show up? It's just us right now, and if the bulls show up, well…we're in trouble."

"You're right," she said. "But maybe they're just trying to be fashionably late."

"All of 'em?"

She shrugged. "You know how Brooklyn likes to make an entrance. And I'm willing to bet all the other boroughs are just waiting on the bridge to see Spot and his boys marching down."

He laughed softly. "No, yeah, you're probably right."

She smiled.

"'Sides," Elmer cut in, "someone's gotta show. It ain't just newsies we invited, remember?"

"So what do we do while we wait?" Mush asked.

Elmer shrugged. "Just...wait. Talk to people, tell stories – and try not to worry too much. Then we's just gonna get worked up over nothin' and everyone's gonna freak out."

"Noted."

As Cassie turned around to finish her discussion, Mush contemplated just telling her then and there. _But that would be rude, wouldn't it? She's in the middle of a conversation,_ he told himself. _Later_.

In an effort to distract himself, he approached Katherine, who looked more uneasy than he'd ever seen her. She was usually so confident and composed, and hadn't this been her idea anyway? Not entirely sure how to go about starting a conversation with her, he decided to be frank. "Are you okay? You ain't lookin' so good."

"You want the truth? I have no clue how today is going to turn out and it really scares me. I mean, Jack's not here, the other newsies aren't here, the workers aren't here."

"We're here, though. And we's been strikin' for weeks. If Jack doesn't finally change Pulitzer's mind, I dunno what will. And that article you wrote seemed pretty convincin', too."

Katherine laughed, but it wasn't one of true amusement. "Thank you, but tell that to my father. I haven't swayed his opinion yet."

"Well, I'se sure - "

"Mush! Katherine! Look!" Blink shouted, pointing animatedly into the distance. "They showed up!"

And, lo and behold, hundreds, maybe _thousands_, of workers carrying signs and copies of the paper about the crusade came marching in, chanting. At the head of the group was Brooklyn (of course), and then the rest of the newsies and then the other workers.

They were loud, and it was _brilliant_.

Everyone marched up to the window of the World building, shouting and singing and chanting, until Jack finally emerged on the balcony, followed by Pulitzer.

The crowd instantly quieted.

"Newsies of New York City…" said Jack, "we won!"

The celebration and cheering that rang through the air was practically deafening. Mush laughed and hugged at least four people.

"And now," Jack continued, "I'd like to introduce my very own _personal_ pal, Governor Theodore Roosevelt himself!"

Sure enough, the governor walked out, smiling and waving. When the applause died down, he said, "Each generation must, at the height of its power, step aside and invite the young to share the day. You have laid claim to our world, and I believe the future, in your hands, will be bright and prosperous!" He turned to Jack. "Your drawings, son, brought another matter to bear. Officers, if you please!"

The governor nodded and blew a whistle. Mush turned around.

"Hey look, it's Crutchie!"

And there was Crutchie, hobbling out with a couple of officers behind him. "Hiya, fellas! Didja miss me?" Everyone shouted their affirmations as Crutchie beamed. "Oh, and look what I got for youse! A gift, straight from the refuge!"

The other two officers stepped forth, restraining …_Snyder_?

"Oh, it's Snyder the Spider!"

"He ain't lookin' so tough no more!"

Despite literally being arrested, Snyder kicked at the crowd, who jumped back.

"Your drawings have made an eloquent argument for shutting down the refuge. Be sure that Mr. Snyder's abuses will be _fully_ investigated." The governor waved a hand. "Officers, take him away."

"Please, your highness," said Crutchie, raising his hand. "May I do the honors?"

Governor Roosevelt made a gesture to show that Crutchie could, and the newsie gleefully took the handcuffs and made to put them on The Spider.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"Yeah, and you'll be laughing all the way to the pen, little man!" Crutchie grinned as the officers started carrying Snyder away. "So long, sucker!" Crutchie laughed, punctuating his exclamation by smacking Snyder on the bum with his crutch. The crowd cheered.

"If one of your drawings convinced the governor to shut down the refuge, what might a daily political cartoon do to expose the private dealings behind our own government's back rooms? What do you say, Teddy? Care to let this young man's artistry shine a lantern behind your closed doors?

Jack waved a hand. "Hey, don't sweat it, Gov. With the strike settled, I should probably be hittin' the road." He started walking off, but Davey caught up to him.

"Don't you ever get tired of singing the same old tune? What's Santa Fe got that New York ain't? Tarantulas?"

Katherine walked up, too. "Better yet, what's New York got that Santa Fe ain't?"

"New York's got us," chimed in Crutchie, "and we're family."

"Did I not hear something about the strike being settled?" Pulitzer boomed.

The newsies (and even some of the other workers that had showed up to the crusade) got into a line to start buying their papers again. It looked like the union was expanding.

Katherine and Jack lingered behind, so Mush got in line behind (but more next to) Cassie. "Can you believe it?" she asked excitedly. "We really won!" She hugged him again. "I mean, it's gonna be weird selling again after all this time, but - "

"Guys!" shouted Les, pointing.

They all looked over to see Jack and Katherine kissing. This was met with whooping and oohing and cheering, and Mush found himself looking at Cassie.

She was clapping and smiling, almost wistfully. "Ya did good, Jack," she said quietly.

Mush realized he was staring, and blushed and turned around to look at Jack and Katherine, who were no longer kissing by now.

"Well, Jack," asked Davey, "are you in or are you out, huh?"

Jack held up what looked like a couple of quarters and made his way over to the box. He slapped them on and _everyone_ present cheered.

_They had won the strike._

* * *

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this penultimate installment of By Words the Mind is Winged! Many, many, _many_ apologies for the lateness of this chapter, and an extra apology for the shorter length! I've been casted in my school's production of Mary Poppins the Musical, and while I love rehearsals, they're very time consuming, so in my free time I have to do things like homework rather than write fanfiction. The next chapter is going to be the last one (kind of sadly), and it may or may not take as long to put out as this one – hopefully it's the latter. Thanks for dealing with me this long, and I hope you can bear with me just a little longer lol.**** \--mouse :)**


	19. In Which Celebratory Hijinks Ensue

Chapter Nineteen: In Which Celebratory Hijinks Ensue

Word Count: 1,021

_Manhattan, 1899_

Trains tend to be pretty expensive, especially if they're trains from _Manhattan to_ _Santa Fe._

Needless to say, Jack had quite a bit saved up from all his time being a newsie. However, seeing as he was no longer going to be using that money to head to Santa Fe, he decided to use some of it to buy the Manhattan newsies a lunch at Jacobi's Deli. He ordered them all pastrami on rye with a sour pickle – and he even got a seltzer for Albert.

Mush grinned again as he looked around at everyone else still cheering and dancing about. He'd smiled so much today his cheeks were starting to hurt. This all felt so surreal and incredible. They'd won the strike, Crutchie was back from the refuge _and _Jack was staying in New York? The day couldn't get much better.

New York was fine for those who had a big, strong door to lock it out, as Jack always said. Well, the newsies and Medda and now Katherine – Mush's family – were his big, strong door. And besides, New York wasn't _all _that bad.

New York had Cassie, for a start.

Mush had realized that he'd always loved Cassie. Not romantically the _whole_ time, of course (that was definitely a more recent development), but as a wonderful friend and overall wonderful person. And he'd realized that when Cassie had told him how she felt, he hadn't known how to respond because he didn't understand the difference. He certainly felt love for her, like the way Jack loved Crutchie or Medda or anyone else he was close to, but did he love her the way she loved him? The answer at the time had been no. The answer now? A resounding yes.

Mush was sixteen. The whole concept of romantic love was still tricky to him, and he wasn't sure if he'd be romantically attracted to Cassie forever, but presently, it was undeniable.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, took a deep breath again, and walked up to Cassie. He tapped her shoulder. "Cassie."

"Hi, Mush," she said, smiling. A beautiful smile. Everything about her was beautiful, he noticed now. _She _was beautiful.

"Can we talk?"

"Sure." She got up and followed him.

_What are you doing,_ _what are you doing,_ _what are you doing?_

"Um. Cassie. I have to tell you something." _Is it hot in here?_

She blinked her huge, blue eyes expectantly. _It's definitely hot in here._

"So. Uh. You know a while back when ya wrote me that note? About how you, ah, loved me?"

Her cheeks colored. "Mm-hm, yep, I-I definitely remember that."

"Well, the thing is..." Mush suddenly became acutely aware of all the other newsies' stares. The deli had gone quiet. He took _another _deep breath. "I kinda sorta feel the same way."

You could hear a pin drop.

* * *

He _what?_

For once, Cassie, the girl who had such a way with words, could not think of a _single thing _to say. The silence was unbearable. After a long stretch of deafening quiet, she said the first thing that came to her mind: "Why?"

"Why?" Mush repeated, laughing in disbelief. "Cassie, why _not_? You'se the sweetest girl I'se ever met – no, scratch that, the sweetest _person_ I'se ever met – and the smartest, too. And you're beautiful, and ya keep us from doin' stupid things."

She laughed, still partly in shock. "And then you do them anyway."

"Yep! You're, like, ninety percent of my impulse control...but I'm hopin' you won't stop me from doin' this."

"Doing what?"

And then Mush was kissing her.

Cassie was being kissed.

Cassie was being kissed by Mush Meyers.

Her best friend Mush Meyers, her crush Mush Meyers, the person she saw in every future she imagined, Mush Meyers.

She almost didn't hear the cheering behind her. (She was absolutely _sure_ that the loudest was Romeo's.)

When they pulled apart after what felt like it could have been an eternity, they were both beaming.

"You're right," Cassie said. "I didn't stop you. I mean, I don't think I'll ever stop you if that's what you're going to be doing."

"Good," said Mush, "'cause I figure I'll be doin' it a lot more often."

Cassie giggled, and turned around at the sound of metal on glass. Romeo was standing on top of a table, clinking a fork on his empty water glass. "Well, fellas, I think that such a momentous occasion deserves celebration. Don't you, Jack?" He smirked.

Jack rolled his eyes, grinning. "This is the first and _last _time I ever buy food for a buncha hungry newsboys."

"_And_ one hungry reporter," added Katherine from next to him.

"What do you fellas say to five cent pie?"

The cheering intensified. When the waiter came back, Jack ordered the pie, and the cheering started up all over again. Cassie was kind of glad they were pretty much the only people there, or they would have caused quite the disturbance.

This was the happiest Cassie had felt in a long time, probably since she became a newsie. Not that there weren't other great days, but this one took the proverbial cake – they'd won the strike, she was eating a whole sandwich (and was about to eat a lot of pie), and Mush had just kissed her. This day was beyond great. It was wonderful, and incredible, and if the mind was winged by words, then hers was soaring with all the words she could use to describe today.

Books were so much easier to handle than reality, which was one of the many reasons Cassie loved them. But if she was in _this _reality – a reality where she had friends, or better, a family, a reality where she and the newsies had won a strike, a reality where _Mush Meyers_ liked her the same way she liked him – she just might be willing to try to understand it a little bit better.

* * *

**A/N: And that concludes the final chapter of By Words the Mind is Winged! It's taken time, but I'm very proud for having finished it. I truly hope you enjoyed it! This was my first full-length romance fic, so if you have any critiques or comments on the development or the pacing or characterization or anything like that, please don't be afraid to share your thoughts! I know this chapter was (very) short, but it was mostly just me tying up some loose ends and concluding the story. **

**A response to AetherlightGirl: Thank you for your review; I'm glad you liked the story!**

**Thank you so, _so_ much for reading!**

**-mouse :D**


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